


Hurricane

by stars_andstuff



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_andstuff/pseuds/stars_andstuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Burr has been alone for too long. </p><p>Hamilton falls asleep on a subway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The man tapped away on his laptop, fully captivated in whatever it was he was writing, and nodded his head furiously to the music in his headphones. Every day was the same. It started early, when Aaron Burr got on the subway, half awake, guzzling coffee because he’d be dead without it. It's a long ride, he hated that. Most days he wish he lived closer to the office, but something kept him in the same spot. 

He reached his stop, and every day, like clockwork, reached the firm at 7:55. Too early, and he’d have to let himself in. Still tired. The other lawyers would wander in at 8:00, 8:05, 8:15, giving him a nod and getting to work. They didn't like him very much, he knew, and he didn't give them a reason to. Aaron didn't see a need work friends. 

He’d slave away for hours, time stretching out infinitely before him. Every day, five o’clock felt like a miracle. After what felt like years, and what felt like millions of cups of coffee, he’d packed up, and was out the door, and on the train home by 5:30. And that's where he saw him. 

Every day he sat in the same spot. The middle of the car, right side, window seat. And everyday he sported dark circles under his eyes, his dark hair thrown in a messy bun. He chewed at his bottom lip, and clicked away at his laptop. He wore bulky headphones, and seemed so entranced in his writing that he didn't realize his head was constantly bobbing to the music. The only thing that differed day to day was his clothes; sometimes he was in suits, others, ratty sweaters, and occasionally he looked as if he'd just gotten back from some waiter gig, a black shirt with a little logo Aaron couldn't quite make out. 

Today, it was a sweater, and worn out jeans. Headphones on, and he was all but dancing in his seat. Burr was a couple rows behind him, where he could watch the stranger dance without much suspicion. The train rolled to a stop, and the man performed an imaginary drum solo. Burr smiled. 

Somehow, after months at his new job, this subway home had become the best part of Aaron’s day. That was ridiculous, of course, and maybe even a little pathetic. But he loved the little dancing man. It caused him a lot of second hand embarrassment, watching the man. He was crazy. He didn't seem to care that there were people all around, and that he got some weird looks, he was happy. Aaron could never do something like that. 

“Uptown funk you up,” The man was mumbling to himself, and of course, of course, that was what he was listening to. Aaron had to stifle a laugh. He watched with a childlike glee as the man wiggled his shoulders to the beat. 

It was a long ride, and Aaron was used to wasting time, people watching and thinking. Today, it being a Friday, his thoughts were darker than usual. The weekends were hard for him. Weekends are always hard for a lonely person. He didn't like to consider himself lonely, but, well, he was alone, wasn't he? He wasn't good at making friends, let alone maintaining them, he didn't have any family, and his last real relationship was over two years ago. He tried to pretend his heart wasn't aching when he thought about Theodosia. They'd dated for five years, met at Princeton through a couple shared courses. The first house he ever bought, he bought with her. He was so in love with her, so, so in love. He wanted to marry her, wanted to start a family with her, wanted to spend forever with her. But he didn't tell her that enough, didn't treat her well enough, waited too long to buy a ring. He was kicking himself for ruining the best thing that happened to him. He wondered if he'd always be kicking himself. 

He sighed, and pulled himself back into reality. They were pulling up at another stop, getting close to him, and- oh shit. This was the dancing man’s stop. And where he'd usually be dragging himself from his seat, smiling tiredly and jamming away, today, he stayed put. For a short moment, while they were pulling away from the man's stop, Burr wondered if maybe he was just going somewhere else tonight. It was a Friday, maybe he was going out. But he looked over at the man, and no, he was asleep. 

His headphones had slid off, his mouth was hanging comically open and emitting a quiet snore. Other passengers were looking on at him with interest, either annoyed or amused with the snores. A couple kids were trying to land little pieces of crumpled paper in his mouth. Music was still playing from his headphones; Anaconda by Nicki Minaj. 

Burr was amused and alarmed at the sight. Surely he wasn’t the only one in the car that knew who the man was, and that he'd missed his stop. But when minutes passed, and no one woke him, Burr knew he should wake the man before he found himself in some random street on the other side of the city in the middle of the night. 

When they reached the next stop, just one before his, Burr stood up, and gingerly sat down in the seat next to the sleeping man. He'd never been this close to him before. Burr found himself staring at him, his messy hair looked softer up close, the frown lines that he wore like an accessory had disappeared. He looked like a child. Innocent, and peaceful. He snored, more of a huff of air then a real snore, and shifted his head in an angle that, we're he awake, he'd be staring right back at Burr. And Burr, recognizing that his stop was coming up fast, and that there was no right way to wake a stranger on the subway, stuck his arm out, and shoved. 

“Wha-,” The man jerked awake. Blurry, brown eyes met Burr’s. “How’d I- did I fall asleep?” He glanced around the train, and out the window, and down at his laptop. “Shit. Shit, where am I? What time is it? Who are-,” The man met Aaron’s eyes again, and this time he looked taken aback. Recognition flashed in his eyes. “Are you Aaron Burr?” 

It was Aaron’s turn to be stunned. How on earth could a random, dancing lunatic know who he was? He narrowed his eyes at the man, pulled himself together, and said, “Depends, who's asking?” The man grinned. 

“Right, of course! I'm Alexander Hamilton, I’m, I just finished law school at Princeton, you're quite a big name down there, you understand. Graduated so fast, and a real genius, some say,” He babbled, “Not that I don't think you're a genius, it's only that we just met and I like to make that call myself, but I don't think you're stupid! I hate when people say I'm stupid, especially when we’ve just met, so forget I said that, in fact, forget I said anything! Alexander Hamilton, at your service, sir.” He stuck out a scrawny hand, and Burr shook it, watching the other man closely. Was he on drugs? His knowledge of the drug world was slim to none, but this kid had be on something. Something that made it impossible for him to shut the fuck up. 

“Right. Well, I woke you to say that you've-” 

“My stop!” Alexander interrupted, and pressed his face against the window to watch the people and places go by. “I missed my stop. Where are we? Still in Manhattan? What time is it?” Burr was checking his watch just as the subway was rolling into his stop. 

“Not even seven,” He stood up, grabbed his briefcase, and turned to Hamilton. “This is me. Can I,” When he looked back on this night, it was this very moment that evaded him. Burr did not make friends. Burr did not extend kindness to people that he didn't think deserved it, certainly not to people as annoying as this Alexander Hamilton. But whatever reason, whatever god or devil that compelled him to say the words, he did it, “Can I buy you a drink?”


	2. Chapter 2

“You're working for a firm now, right? God, that must be incredible! Is it incredible?” They were seated across from one another in a dimly lit bar, and their drinks were collecting on the table. Aaron wanted to be drunk. He needed to be, to dull the headache this man was giving him. He'd like Alexander better when he was just a nameless subway stranger. 

“It's not incredible.” He swirled ice cubes around with a straw. Rum and Coke, his third. “It's excruciatingly credible.” Alexander gave an exaggerated frown. Everything he did was exaggerated. 

“What's not great about it?” Alexander asked. “The people, the place, the job?” 

“All three.” He downed the drink in one quick gulp. 

“Well that's terrible, Burr. I love my job! Er, jobs. I do some lawyer stuff, but I spend most of my time writing articles for a political journal, except that doesn't pay either, and when I'm not doing that I work at a coffee place down in Harlem. That one actually pays. It's where I worked through school and I just love it too much to quit, y’know?” Aaron didn't know, but he nodded anyway. 

“You don't work for a firm?” Hamilton shook his head, finishing off the last of his drink. The cheapest beer on tap. 

“‘Fraid not. It's mostly pro bono work, divorce files and such. You meet a lot of people that way. Besides, I've never been a very good lawyer.” 

“Then why did you go to law school?” 

“I want to be the president,” If Burr been drinking something he would have spit it all over Hamilton’s stupid sweater. Oblivious to Burr’s astounded look, he continued, “Lots of presidents have a law background, or at least some kind of degree. Well, okay, maybe I don't want to be the president. As a kid, that's all I wanted. Being a lawyer would be fun, but I want to change things, I want to inspire, I want this country to be great again! We need to stop police brutality, to tighten gun laws, and to strive for racial and gender equality!” He was practically beaming. Burr could imagine him behind a podium, American flag waving behind him. “Why're you looking at me funny?” 

“It's nothing,” Burr promised, but he was grinning. This was the dancing subway man he couldn't keep his eyes off of. “Can I give you some advice?” 

“Sure!” He signalled the bartender for another round. 

“Talk less.” 

“What?” 

“And smile more. You want to create change, you want to move up in the world, and you can't do that by spewing your opinion to every stranger you meet on the subway. Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead.” Hamilton was frowning, and seemed about to counter with something, when a voice across the bar started yelling. 

“Yo, yo, yo! Alexander Hamilton, what is your sorry ass doing in this neighbourhood?” The figure that walked toward them was all lanky, freckled weirdness, with a toothy grin and a drink in his hand. 

“Trying to stay away from your sorry ass,” Hamilton called back, and stood up from the booth to embrace the other man, letting his head fall into the crook of the others neck. When they separated, Hamilton was smiling, and his hand lingered on the other man's back. “I fell asleep on the subway, wound up here! I was just-” he waved a hand at Burr, and the other man stepped back. 

“Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was-” He offered a hand to Burr, who shook it tentatively, “John Laurens.” 

“Aaron Burr. Pleasure.” Laurens laughed, looking between him and Hamilton. 

“The pleasure’s mine, I'm afraid Alex doesn't keep me updated nowadays, how long have you two been…?” He made a crude gesture and wiggled his eyebrows. Aaron could feel his face going red. 

“No, uh,” He started blubbering, but Hamilton saved him. 

“Jesus, Laurens,” He laughed, “Mister Burr and I have only just met.” 

“That never stopped you before,” Aaron’s face went all the redder. He did not want to be hearing about the aspiring politician’s sexual escapades. “Watch out, Burr, he's hard to say no to. Hey!” He gave Hamilton a hearty slap on the back. “Should I call up the boys, ask if they want to have a few rounds? They'd love to see you, it's been too long!” An excited Hamilton turned back to Burr. 

“You don't mind, do you?” He asked. Between the lingering touches and the soft looks, Aaron could tell he was interrupting something. His heart sank a little as he reached for his coat. 

“No, of course, I understand,” His face felt hot. Why did his face feel so hot? “It's late anyway, I should-” 

“No, Burr!” Hamilton exclaimed hurriedly. “I mean, you don't mind my old friends joining us? I don't want you to leave, Jesus, we've only just met! Stay, Burr. Stay and get trashed with me.” Hamilton was looking down at him with an inviting smile, and Laurens was swearing happily into his cellphone, and waiter was carrying a tray of drinks to their table. And Aaron found himself with a sheepish grin on his face, saying, 

“Yeah, sure. Why not.” Hamilton cheered. Laurens gave a thumbs up. In record time, they'd downed their drinks, and were calling back the waiter for a round of shots. 

The rest of the night was a drunken blur. The rest of Hamilton’s friends showed up; an intimidating looking man with a rough voice, who talked very little and mostly about his dogs, and a French immigrant who dressed too nice for the occasion, drank fluorescent blue drinks, and pretended not to know English when it suited him. All in all, they were a laugh. The whole night was a laugh. Aaron couldn't remember when he'd had so much fun. 

At one point, Alexander stood up on a table and was shouting about women's right to anyone in earshot. Later, he was serenading Laurens with a out of tune, lyrically inaccurate rendition of Somebody To Love by Queen. And then there was the dancing. God, could Hamilton dance. Mostly, it was with Laurens, enthralling, and sexually charged, but he'd managed to drag Aaron up with him a few times. 

It was after his umpteenth rum and Coke, Aaron’s vision was blurred, words slurred. Alex had dragged him out of a conversation about failed French Revolutions by grabbing his hands and leading him to the dance floor. 

“Having fun, Burr?” He asked. And his hips were starting to move, and his hands were on Aaron's chest. A smirk played at the corner of his lips. Why couldn't Aaron stop staring at his lips? 

“Yeah,” He answered, nearly yelling over the music. “I love this bar! I love this song!” He didn't even recognize the song. Just that the beat was resonating in his chest, and Alex's hips were moving in time. 

“Then dance with me!” Alexander shouted back. “My hips don't lie, Burr! My hips do not lie.” And Aaron was laughing, remember the moves the man displayed on the subway, and then they were dancing, too close and too long, because Alex didn't understand boundaries, and Aaron was good at losing track of time. They danced, and Aaron's heart raced in his chest. They danced, and the room spun, and Aaron couldn't remember the last time he danced like that, or danced at all. Alexander was grinning like a madman. Aaron had to fight back a smile himself. 

“You can't hog him forever!” Laurens whined eventually, and Alex laughed and let himself be dragged away from Aaron. 

The rest of the night went by too fast, with many a political debate, and celebratory toast, only the latter of which Aaron involved himself in. Too soon it was last call, and the boys were putting on their jackets, and saying their goodbyes. 

“We must do this again sometime, little Alex,” The French one, Lafayette, exclaimed. “It was too much a pleasure not to repeat. Next weekend, perhaps? And Mister Burr, my new acquaintance, you will join us too, yes?” 

“Uh,” Burr tried, and was cut off. 

“Of course he’ll come!” Alexander promised. And to Burr, said, “I put my number in your phone, sorry if that's stalkerish. If you don't call me, I'll call you.” 

“Uh,” He repeated dumbly. 

“Goodnight, Aaron,” Alex said, resting an easy hand on his shoulder. “I'll see you on the train, I'm sure.” 

And with that they were off, four loud friends making their way into the dark, and Burr was left flustered, drunk, and red in the face. 

The rest of the weekend Aaron spent in his pajamas, tired, hungover, and mind filled with thoughts of a certain dancing lawyer. More than once, he looked down at the contact list on his phone, finger hovering over the one that read “A. Ham ;)”. He didn't call. He didn't text. He just let his thoughts be consumed by the strange man, his quirks, his annoyingly loud opinions, his eyes. 

It was no wonder that when Monday rolled around, the same as every Monday before it, and after a long commute with no Hamilton to amuse him, he reached the law firm already tired of the week. And it it was no wonder that when his boss, George Washington, called everyone’s attention to say that there was a new position opening up, Aaron cleared his throat and said, “I know a guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for that to get so dancey, but oh well. 
> 
> Yes, in my mind Herc owns a lot of dogs, and Laf is a cinnamon roll. And Laurens is a huge cock block.
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't even a real job interview. When Aaron joined the firm, there had been sweaty handshakes, extensive questioning, a thrice renovated resumed read front to back. He'd been wearing a suit, showing off his best tie and best behaviour. He had been quiet, polite, and spoke only when spoken to. 

Alexander Hamilton walked into the law firm in khakis and eating a cream cheese bagel. His hair was down, a mess in his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. His headphones hung around his neck, and his laptop, along with dozens of papers, were shoved under his arm. 

“I'm here for the job interview,” he announced, and eyes widened in scepticism. Aaron shrunk back in his chair, hoping that this bagel devouring nightmare of a man wouldn't notice him and call him out in front of his coworker. “Aaron Burr, sir!” No such luck. He sauntered over to the open door of Burr’s office, grinning, as ever. Popping the last piece of bagel into his mouth, he invited himself to take a seat across from Burr. He checked his watch. 

“I'm not late, am I?” He was twenty minutes early. 

“No, you're fine.” 

“Good. How've ya been, Burr? You didn't call me.” He was leaning back in his seat, flipping through his paperwork nonchalantly. Aaron raised an eyebrow.

“I called you yesterday,” he said. He could the other associates eyes on him, burning holes into him. Someone actually taking an interest in Aaron? That was new, for the office. Alex waved a hand dismissively. 

“I meant before that. Before that, you didn't call me. People always call me, Burr, you can understand my alarm. Mind, I might not of answered it, I was fairly busy all weekend, but it would have been nice to know you called. Why didn't you call?” I figured you had better people to talk to. 

“I was busy, too,” A lie. “I wasn't pacing my apartment all weekend wondering if I should call you, Hamilton.” Another lie. Aaron was on a roll. Alex didn't seem to have heard that last sentence, as he was looking around Burr’s office, and out the door at the other associates, who hung around the coffee machine, like grazing animals. 

“Give me the scoop on them, Burr,” Alex said, suddenly looking very nervous. “Who do I impress, who do I charm, who do I fight?” 

“The- the other lawyers? Don't fight anyone.” 

“Okay, okay, but really. Tell me their names, at least. Tell me how to impress them.” He was looking at Aaron with big, lost eyes. Aaron sighed, and obliged. 

“The girl in the orange is Angelica Schuyler. Her father's a partner at the firm, she's probably going to follow in his footsteps. She's nice enough, just don't flirt with her. I made the mistake of flirting with her,” He pointed to the woman standing beside her. “Maria Reynolds. She just started here, works the front desk. She's quiet. Stays out of everyone's business,” He gestured to the man beside her, who was hiding behind a cup of coffee. “James Madison. Some people call him Jemmy, I don't, but I think he likes it. He takes more sick days than anyone I've ever met, and he never fakes them. He's allergic to virtually everything, the bagel you brought in here could have killed him.” 

Hamilton laughed, and it was a bright, soft sound. Aaron could get used to hearing that laugh. 

“And beside Madison, the tall man, that's Thomas Jefferson. Biggest asshole I've ever met. He comes from a rich family, moved here from Virginia. Yeah, just stay away from him, he's the worst. No, wait,” Burr motioned to the man standing beside him. “I spoke too soon. Charles Lee, he's the worst. How a racist, sexist, homophobic prick got to be our union rep, I have no idea. The worst,” And when Burr saw Hamilton was smiling, he narrowed his eyes and repeated, “The worst.” 

Hamilton nodded, assessing the group. Suddenly he stood up, dropping all his things on Burr’s desk and stretching. 

“Angelica, Maria, Jemmy, Thomas, and Charles. Got it. Now, Burr, watch me impress.” 

He sauntered over to the group, all smiles, and, after turning and winking at Burr, launched himself right into conversation. 

It wasn't a real interview. Around thirty minutes after Hamilton had started talking to all the coworkers, George Washington emerged from his office, looking slightly shaken, and went to get a cup of coffee. Aaron watched as he was drawn into the conversation, listening intently to Hamilton's ravings. Hamilton spoke loudly and to anyone who would listen, often angry, and with a senseless urgency. Political rants that Angelica nodded along to, but Jefferson and Lee scoffed at. Before long, Washington was smiling, and shaking Alex’s hand. And he was pulling Alex away from the crowd, to tell him something in private, and Alex’s eyes were lighting up. 

It was probably an hour later, Aaron was typing away on his computer, being the only one who did actual work in the whole building, when Alex appeared in his doorway. 

“We’re going to be work buddies, Burr.” Aaron looked up from his work. He hadn't doubted that Alex would get the job, he just had no idea it would happen so fast. Had there even been any other interviews? 

“Oh?” 

“Yep, and I get the office beside yours. Isn't that exciting? I'm going to annoy the shit out of you!” That was definitely true. 

“Why do you just assume I annoy you?” Burr asked. Hamilton frowned, drummed his fingers along the doorframe. 

“I annoy all my friends. We are friends, aren't we?” Burr, having not made a friend since high school, was still sputtering out a response when Alex gathered his things and walked out the door. 

“I'll see you on the train, Burr!” He called joyfully as he took his leave. Again, Burr could feel eyes on him. Since when does Aaron Burr had friends, they were probably thinking. And since when are his friends cool? 

Angelica even came up to him, as he was grabbing something from the copier. 

“That Alex was really something wasn't he,” She said, “How do you know him?” For a moment Aaron didn't realize she was talking to him. Usually his coworkers just let home mind his own business.

“It's a long story. But I think he's a decent guy, a good lawyer, and-” 

“And attractive!” Angelica cut him off. “Maria was looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and I have to admit, I was eyeing him up myself, but office romances are sort of frowned upon so it's not like- Are you gay, Burr?” Aaron almost dropped the files he was sorting. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I'm not trying to offend you, I'm just wondering. Are you?” She was leaning against the copier now, staring up at Aaron, studying him. 

“Yeah, Burr, are you?” Jefferson. Of course it was Jefferson. He'd caught wind of a juicy conversation, and just had to wedge himself into it. He rolled himself out of the doorway of his office, legs crossed on a spinny chair. “Huh, Burr? Huh?” Aaron's face was going red. 

“I'm- That isn't-” He forced himself to stop, to take a breath. “That's personal information, and you are under no jurisdiction to ask me questions on that front.” 

Excruciatingly slowly and calmly, he knelt to pick up his dropped papers, walked back to his office, and all but slammed the door behind him. No one bothered him for the rest of the day. He was in a sour mood when he staggered onto the subway at the end of the day. 

“Burr! Sit with me!” A sunny Alexander Hamilton, headphones on, waving at Aaron from his seat. Obliging, Aaron plopped down next to the man, letting out a small sigh as he did. 

“Long day?” Hamilton asked. 

“They're all long,” Aaron replied, “This one was eternal.” Hamilton huffed in response, and sank into his chair, refocusing on whatever it was he was writing. After a few moments of silence, which Burr took advantage of by looking out the window across from him and watching people and stations flicker by, Alex spoke up. 

“Are you an orphan?” That threw Aaron for a loop. What's with today and people asking uncomfortable questions? 

“Yes. How did you-”

“I stalked your Facebook profile. I had a bit of free time, went all the way back to 2003 on your timeline, you really don't use it that much. Anyway, while I was trying to find an outlet for possible awkward baby pictures, I saw there was no mention of any other Burr’s, none in relation, at least. Wondered if maybe you were an orphan, too.” 

Aaron, who couldn't find the words to be upset, or weirded out, or even angry, just said, “Too?”

“Uh huh, well,” He studied his shoes. “An orphan in a sense. Dad’s still alive, but he left when I was ten, mom died a couple years later. We were both sick for a while, I got better, obviously, but she died. That was weird for me. And I'm sure my dad heard what happened, but he never came back for me, so I was on my own. Pretty shitty. How'd your parents die? There was no conversation Burr wanted to be having less than this one, but Hamilton was probing, leaning forward in his chair, eyes bright. 

“Car accident. I was two.” 

“That sucks.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Burr?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What do you think about Satan worship?” Aaron was, for the third time that day, astounded by a question. 

“What?” He asked, incredulous. Alex was only half listening, tapping at his laptop, chewing his lip. 

“It's nothing. I'm just trying to get a read on you, you keep to yourself too much, I can never understand you. Even on Facebook, even on Twitter, you're neutral about everything!” He was hunched over his computer, typing away, not looking up even as his voice started to rise. “I like you, Burr, I really do, but you freak me out! I don't know your opinion on anything! Are you a hipster, are you a Brony, a Trump supporter, a Satan worshiper? How on Earth should I know!” Finally, Alex closed his laptop, and, eyes crazed, he looked at Burr. 

“I promise you I am none of those things.” Alex gave him a once over, seemed satisfied, and went back to his work. 

“Good. Because I can handle a hipster, but any of the rest, Jesus. I mean a Trump supporter, even on their best day is…” Alex carried on, talking Aaron's ear off the whole ride home. After much too long of listening to the man complain about social media’s lack of backlash on the issue on Bronies, Aaron could see, just a little, why all his friends thought he was annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was kind of all over the place. Oops. Im struggling with my characterization of Burr, if you hadn't noticed. He's very dear to me, he is my child, and I don't want to screw him up. Also, Alex is a clingy little shit. 
> 
> I promise next chapter will be more fun. It might even include some more drunk squad...


	4. Chapter 4

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:26 AM

_If you listen reeeeeal close, you can hear Jefferson fucking Jemmy in the bathroom_

To: A. Ham ;)  
10:29 AM

_I highly doubt Madison is in there. It's usually just Jefferson jerking off to his own reflection._

The week seemed to go by faster with Alex in it. It was refreshing for Aaron, having someone he could actually talk to at all times. It was a foreign experience for him to have someone in his life who knew, and hated, everyone he worked with. Alex talked more shit about their coworkers in one week than Aaron had in his entire life. When he couldn't bitch during lunch hour, he texted Aaron, paragraphs and emojis and run on sentences. It was a wonder he did any actual work.

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:29 AM

_That wouldn't surprise me at all. What a prick. In all seriousness though, are they fucking? James and Jeffs? Tell me everything. I just want to know all the gossip of the office. Pleeeease gossip is the blood in my veins. Oooo and what about Angelica, she's got her eyes on me, is she single? And Maria Reynolds, what's her deal? I know she's married, but I see bruises on her arms and I wonder if I should fight the husband?? Is he a big dude? Could I take him??!?_

To: A. Ham ;)  
10:34 AM

_Answering all your questions: James and Jeffs are sleeping together, but their relationship is so complicated I don't even try to keep up. Angelica is married to her job. Don't fight the husband. Do not. Fight. The husband._

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:35 AM

_You are such a slow typer, stop doing your job and talk to me!!! Also, I just remembered, the boys and I are going to the bar for celebratory I Got A Job drinks. Thinking I might invite some people from work?? And you, of course._

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:35 AM

_I'm gonna invite Angelica, and maybe Jefferson and Jemmy, just to get the scoop on their relationship. Are they hate-fucking? Are they best friends who don't understand boundaries? Fuck buddies? Husbands?!!? I'm making it my mission to find out!_

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:43 AM

_Answer me, I'm bored._

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:49 AM

 _Fuck_ you, I'm coming over.

The sound of footsteps on a linoleum floor, and then there was a knock at Burr’s door.

“Honey, I'm home!” Alex called out, and someone, probably Angelica, snorted a laugh. He didn't wait for Aaron to reply, and opened the door uninvited. “Did you get my texts?” Burr looked up from his work.

“Hmm? Yes, I read them.”

“And you didn't reply? Dick.”

“I'm working, Hamilton. I'm at work, so I'm working.” Alex, seeming unfazed by the comment, strolled inside and dropped himself into a chair across from Burr’s desk.

“So you'll come?” Hamilton asked. “For drinks?” If Burr said yes, it would be his second time out in two weeks. That was an amazing feat for him, since Theodosia left. Lately he'd never had much of a reason to leave his apartment.

“Sure,” Burr said, acting nonchalant. “I mean, I guess it's fitting that the it who got you a job in the first place comes out for victory drinks.”

“Sweet! Awesome, the boys will be excited, I think they liked you. And everyone here will be happy, Angelica tells me you never go out.”

“Don't listen to anything Angelica says, she's a huge gossip and-”

“Burr, it's fine, I'm not accusing you of being a hermit. You could just use some time out and about. Look at you, you look like a plant in need of watering.” That was rich, coming from Alex. Aaron knew from his five in the morning texts, his poorly written social justice blog that he updated twenty times a day, and the overly strong caffeine concoction he downed every morning, that the man didn't get out much himself. He had more friends than Aaron, sure, that wasn't a hard competition to win, but he also stayed up all night working, writing until he passed out.

“Okay, okay,” Aaron waved a dismissive hand. “I already said I would go, don't make me change my mind.” Alex nodded seriously.

“Right.” He said nothing else, but made no indication of leaving, sitting thoughtfully on his phone until Burr spoke up.

“I've got a client coming in five minutes, Hamilton.”

“Hmm?” He hardly glanced up from his screen.

“I have a client coming in soon,” Aaron repeated, only to receive a blank look. He had to fight back a laugh. “Leave, Hamilton! I'm asking you to leave!”

“Oh!” He hopped out of his chair, and headed for the door. “Okay, well I'll text you details for tonight, keep your schedule open, good luck with your client,” he opened up the door to leave, but turned back. “Burr?” He asked.

“Yeah?”

“Sit with me on the train?”

“Of course.” Alex nodded earnestly, and left before Aaron could think of a more casual response.

The rest of the day was spent in haste. Aaron’s new client was a woman with voluntary manslaughter charges, after a nasty fight with her husband had led to a wine bottle in his head. It would not be an easy case to win, so Burr spent the remainder of his work day searching through report files and scrambling for an angle that would make her appear innocent.

Burr was a good lawyer. Good for the firm, because he could handle cases that were morally wrong, and left a bad taste in his mouth. Hamilton only took cases where he knew he was in the right. When he spoke in court, his words were superfluous, opinionated, and sharp. With his words he would attack who he thought guilty, and talk himself into a corner. He wasn't a terrible lawyer, but Burr could see why he'd aspired to go into politics; he was strong in his words, and stood behind what he believed. Burr stood behind whatever made him money.

When the work day ended, a flurry of paperwork and cheap coffee, Alex was waiting at the front door for him, on his laptop. His hair had fallen out of its bun, and he was chewing thoughtfully on his lip.

“Ready to go?” Burr asked as he buttoned up his coat. Looking up, Alex smiled and gave a quick nod, and they left the firm together, locking up the door behind them.

It felt natural, walking down the street together, talking idly, enjoying the dizzying colours and welcome breeze of the fall. They'd only known each other a week, but Aaron was in his comfort zone strolling lazily down the street with this man. He felt as if they could wander New York forever and never be bored.

They made the subway, not a minute too soon, and sat down together. It was always a fight for the middle seat, as they both liked to watch the people on the outside, and look at the familiar station as they flashed by. Today, Aaron raced to sit at it first, and grinned wickedly up at a dejected Hamilton.

“Whatever,” Alex said, flopping into the aisle seat, “Age before beauty, anyway.” Aaron's eyebrows quirked in amusement.

“Really? Age before beauty? Are we five?” Aaron laughed as he stuck a tongue out. Then he pulled his laptop open, and began to type. No headphones, today.

“What are you writing?” Aaron asked after a few minutes of silence. It interested him, the things Hamilton could write. Sometimes long, ranting emails, sometimes dozens of error filled tweets, sometimes poetry. He was published in a handful of local magazines, as well as online.

“Article,” Alex replied. “About the lack of diversity in mainstream media.”

“Wow,” He said, and upon glancing at the screen at the paragraphs he'd already written, added, “That's a subject you're pretty passionate about, huh?” An incredulous look is what he received.

“Well, of course! I mean, everybody, every kid should be able to turn on the tv and see themselves. Black kids, Asian kids,” He gestured to himself, “Puerto Rican kids. They should be able to look up to people that are just like them, not just skinny, straight, white men! We should see ourselves in super heroes, in detectives, in Disney princesses, in family sitcoms! I- Why are you looking at me like that?” Burr jerked up in his seat.

“Huh?”

“You were just looking at me funny, that's all. Must have been zoning out, do you not like listening to me?” Quite the contrary.

“No!” Burr promised, maybe too hastily. Had he been looking at Alex funny? He didn't know. He'd been entranced. “I like listening to you, don't- I like listening to you.”

He liked listening to Alex the way someone might like listening to thunderstorms at night to put them to sleep. Aaron had always been fascinated by storms, and this man was more like a hurricane than a human. Loud, but lulling, like rain pattering against a window. A surging force, a resilient power. His words rumbled and cracked like thunder. Mesmerizing Burr the way storms always did. He remembered being young, pressing his face against his window while rain and hail pelted down. Fearful and curious. A part of him had always wanted to get closer to the madness.

Alex got off before him, promising to see him later, and Burr remained in silent meditation for the rest of the ride. He got to his apartment, thoroughly exhausted, and ate shitty leftovers for dinner. He wondered briefly if he even wanted to go out, when his phone buzzed.

From: A. Ham ;)  
9:46 PM

_You coming? We're at the same bar you took me, I know it's like a block away from your place. Everyone's here except Angelica, Laf… And you!!! Hurry up! Im bored and I feel like I'm going to fight Jefferson!!!!_

To: A. Ham ;)  
9:50 PM

_Don't fight Jefferson. I don't think I'm going to come out tonight, I'm tired, I might turn in early._

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:05 PM

_NOOO!! I need you here, Burr! You have to save me from the idiots! Charles Lee just showed up (uninvited) and keeps talking shit about Angelica’s sister. I'm going to fight him._

To: A. Ham ;)  
10:05 PM

_Angelica has a sister?_

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:09 PM

_She has two! And one of them (Peggy. The youngest. She's a million laughs) is trans and Lee is being really rude and he's crossing the line. This is the United Stats of America and PEGGY IS A WOMAN AND WE SHOULD RECOGNIZE HER AS SUCH!_

To: A. Ham ;)  
10:09 PM

 _States_ **

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:11 PM

_Oh, fuck you._

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:13 PM

_Please, PLEASE come over. I'm dyinf. I'm drunk. No one is dancing with me, no one is singng. Do u want me to beg you? I'm on m knees. I will literally blow you if you come over right noe_

To: A. Ham ;)  
10:16 PM

_Fine, I'm coming. I don't want you to blow me, I just don't want you to get in a fight with someone bigger than you._

Muttering curses under his breathe, Burr threw on a coat, and his shoes, and left his apartment feeling dishevelled, and slightly flushed. Since when did the two of them jokingly offer blowjobs in return for the others company? Since when did anyone do that? Burr could only shake his head.

When he stepped inside the bar, the lights were low, with flashing strobes of all colours going off all around him. He couldn't make out faces, just bodies, spinning and grinding in rhythm to the song. His eyes were taking their time adjusting to the dark. He bumped into someone, who swore at him, and stomped away before he could apologize. His heart felt crowded in his chest, this whole place was too much. There was a reason he didn't go out. The music was all the way up, it thrummed against his eardrums, the whole place stunk like liquor and vomit, and-

-And Alexander was in the middle of the dance floor, making out with a girl Burr had never seen. His heart sunk, and though he couldn't explain it, he was suddenly overcome by the urge to leave. To get out of this bar, out of this city, out of this skin. He wanted to be someone else, someone not watching Hamilton as he stuck his tongue down a stranger's throat. Not being able to take any more, Aaron turned on his heel to leave, but was met by a familiar face.

“Aaron,” Angelica said, smiling politely. “You made it! Would you like a drink? It's on me.”

“Rum and Coke,” He heard himself say. She led him over to a crowded table, where most of their coworkers, along with Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette, sat. They all smiled up at him.

“Burr, what took you so long?” Herc asked.

“Ze little Alex has been looking for you, my friend,” Lafayette said. He was blinking up at Burr innocently. “Did he find you?”

“Uh, no,” Burr mumbled, and took a chair as it was offered. “He was occupied.” That caused a laugh.

“He's been up that Schuyler sister’s skirt all night.” That was Jefferson. He was at the corner of the table, dressed too nicely for the occasion, with a firm hand on Madison’s knee.

“I woulda picked that one too, given the option,” Lee offered. He seemed drunk. “She's the pick of the litter, considering the other two. One's a bitch, and one’s a man.”

Aaron’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked it.

From: A. Ham ;)  
10:34 PM

_You're here?? Find me_

Aaron ignored it. Meanwhile, Laurens had stood up, and was waving a fist at Lee.

“You can't say that kind of shit here, Lee. Step outside, let's go a few rounds!”

Someone handed Burr a drink. He guzzled it. The conversation was continuing to escalate, getting rowdy and vile, when Angelica tapped him on the shoulder.

“Look,” She said. “I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, it was an unwarranted comment, and I'm sorry.” This was not a conversation Burr wanted to be having.

“I- It's not that it was- Shit, I just,” Burr shrugged, drank, threw caution to the wind. “I'm bi. It's not something I wanted to interfere with my work environment, I keep my private life private. And Jefferson-”

“I won't tell Jefferson!” She assured him. “It's fine, Aaron. I'm glad you told me,” She gave him a small smile. “Another drink?”

“Please.”

On the way to the counter, Angelica told him how to report people at work if they ever insulted him about his sexuality.

“That shit doesn't fly with me,” She said, “If one of those dicks is harassing you, I'll have them fired on the spot.” They were so deep in conversation, so busy filling and refilling drinks, that they didn't even hear the fight. Until-

“Angelica! Angelica!” A woman in a yellow dress, much younger than them, came bounding up. The was pointing to the door, her arms flailing, her face contorted in panic. “Alex and John are fighting outside! Eliza’s out there!”

Without another word, the three of them raced outside, to withhold the scene that was playing out in front of them.

Blood shone bright on the sidewalk. A crowd had half gathered around to witness the lunacy, but kept their distance, in fear of catching a fist. Charles Lee stood like a soldier ready for war, back straight, lips pulled tight. There was a cut under his eye, dripping blood onto the collar of his coat. By his side was Jefferson, looking all too jolly, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, grinning like a madman. The view of the two was momentarily tarnished, as John Laurens ran at the pair, like a bowling ball taking down pins, crashing into them and pulling them down to the concrete. Hamilton came soon after.

He was a force to be reckoned with, for sure, fast and violent and drunk, firing his fists until they connected with something, maybe a nose, and made a sharp snap.

“Fuck you!” Someone screamed, wailing in pain. All four scrambled to their feet, Jefferson kneeing Alex in the ribs, Lee’s hands going straight for John’s throat.

“Do something, Aaron!” Angelica pleaded, but Burr was at a loss.

“Stop,” He said weakly, and that's all he could do. “Please, stop it.”

It was a losing battle for Hamilton and Laurens. The lights seemed to be leaving from John’s eyes, and he fell to his knees with Lee’s hands still clutching his neck.

“Let him go.” Burr was frozen in his place.

Hamilton was still fighting. Missing punches, tripping over his feet. Maybe his vision was blurred, because he lunged for the air beside Jefferson, and face planted the concrete. Jefferson took advantage of the misstep, and flipped Alex on his back, landing a kick in his ribs. Alex could only groan in reply, and curl himself into a ball.

“Stop.”

Another kick. And another, this one to the face. Alex cried out, and blood spilled from his nose, pooling on the ground.

“Stop it.”

Alex wasn't moving anymore. But Jefferson kicked his limp body with vigour.

“Stop it!”

If he didn't stop he would kill him.

“Stop!” Finally, Burr found his legs, and rushed between the two men. Hamilton's eyes were shut. His breathing was shallow. Burr turned to Jefferson and spat, “What the fuck is the matter with you? You want to kill him? Get the fuck out of here!”

Smugly, Jefferson turned on his heel and walked back into the bar. Burr couldn't tell for sure, but he could have sworn he heard the man laughing. The crowd that had gathered followed him back inside. Even Angelica went. Even Laurens, rubbing his neck and cursing.

Alone on the sidewalk, the streetlight shining on them, Burr considered the man beneath him. He knelt down beside him. Gently, slowly, he pushed Alex into a sitting position. The man moaned.

“You awake?” Burr asked.

“Mmhm,” Alex replied. His bottom lip was busted, his nose was bleeding, his one eye was closed up and swelling.

“Can you stand?”

“Mhmm.” Aaron helped him to his feet, and with an arm around his waist, he guided the injured man a few steps away from the bar.

“We’ll go my place. Unless you think you need a hospital,” Alex shook his head firmly. “That's what I thought. God, Alex, I told you not to fight. You tell me every day you want to fight, and every day I say no, and this is why. Jesus, this is a nightmare. This is- Why are you smiling?” His face, beaten and deformed as it was, was twisted into a toothy grin.

“You called me Alex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write. This was super fun. I'm not very good at fight scenes, so I hope you can deal. 
> 
> I love the idea of trans!Peggy so I had to include that. 
> 
> Also, thanks for leaving lovely comments, even if I don't answer them (because I'm an awkward child) they are much appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

“So? I've called you Alex before.” Hamilton tried to shake his head, but grimaced in pain and stopped himself. 

“Nope,” He said. “Only ever Hamilton. I remember these things. Sounds different when you say it.” 

“If you don't want me to it’s-” 

“No! Sounds good, I like it, keep saying it.” He reached his hand out to pat Burr on the cheek. Burr remembered suddenly that Alex was very drunk. 

“Okay then,” He said, and continued to walk the other man in the direction of his apartment. It was taking a terribly long time to get there, mainly because Hamilton was injured and tipsy, and couldn't seemed to walk and talk at the same time, therefore having to stop every time he spoke. “Alex. Just make it back to my place, and then you can sleep.” He couldn't decide if he was talking more to Alex or himself. 

“Say it again.” Hamilton was grinning like a lunatic, blood outlining the corners of his mouth. 

“Alex.” 

“Again!” 

“Alex, Alex, Alex.” 

“Love that.” He staggered slightly, his knees giving out, and Burr had to wrap both arms around him to keep him upright, like a great, awkward bear hug. Alex's head was buried in his chest, probably getting blood all over his shirt. Burr could feel him breathing, feel his heartbeat. His hair tickled against Aaron’s chin, it smelled like lavender. For too long, Burr held him there, arms wrapped around him, just breathing. 

“Are you okay to walk?” Aaron finally asked, in barely a whisper, fearful to break the silence. In reply, Alex giggled. 

“Talk again,” He murmured, drunk and battered and smiling. 

“What?” Burr asked, and he went off on another fit of laughter. 

“It rumbles,” He laughed. “When you talk, your chest, it rumbles!” Burr rolled his eyes. 

“Can you walk or not? If you can't, I can call a cab.” When again, the only response he got was laughter, he pulled Alex out of his chest, holding him away by his shoulders. “Can you walk?” 

“Yes, yes!” Alex cried, and proceeded to prove it by leaving Aaron's side and strutting down the street, hands at his hips and one foot in front of the other. “I'm walking! Keep up, Aaron!” 

The use of his first name hit him like a freight train. It made him stop dead, his heart thumping sporadically. It was obvious now how Alex had noticed. Such stark contrast to the easy “Burr” he was usually called. He liked it. 

“I don't know where you live!” Alex called from ahead of him. “This one?” He had stopped walking, and was pointing to a building across the street. “This one?” Aaron caught up to him, and directed his arm so it was aiming at the correct building, just a few blocks away. 

“That one,” Burr huffed. “Now let's go. You'll catch cold if you stay out here any longer.” 

After the painstaking process of all but dragging Alex up two flights of stairs, they made it to his room in one piece. Immediately after Burr opened the door Alex was inside, blundering through his apartment, inspecting every room, opening every drawer, ransacking the place. Aaron followed more slowly behind him, nervous. 

It wasn't a big place, though with his parents money he could afford one. Four rooms, with an adjoining kitchen and living room. Lots of counter space in the kitchen, for the days when Aaron felt like cooking, and a big window overlooking the city streets. The living room was just a couch, coffee table, and tv, nothing extravagant. His bedroom held a large bed, a closet, and a desk for his work. 

“Nice place, Aaron, you live alone?” He was trying to act casually, his head in Burr’s cereal drawer, hands gripping the counter to keep him from falling over. Aaron was searching his fridge for an ice pack. 

“Very funny,” He said, settling for a bag of frozen peas. 

“What?” 

“You know I live alone. I know you know that. I'm single and I'm an orphan and I live alone, you know that.” Alex frowned. 

“You never told me you were single.” 

“You should have assumed,” He said, crossing over Hamilton to grab his emergency kit. He nodded toward the couch. “Sit down. Let me look at you.” 

“‘M okay,” He traipsed over to the couch and collapsed. “I can't even feel it.” 

“That's because you're drunk. It'll hurt tomorrow if you don't let me look at it.” Alex sighed, nodded, and then tilted his head forward and closed his eyes, allowing Aaron to analyze the wounds. 

His face was beat up pretty bad. One of his eyes had already begun to bruise, and was swelling more by the minute. Bleeding from his nose had stopped, but the blackened, dried blood was still plastered on his face, caked in his nostrils. The only fresh blood was coming from his bottom lip, which was split and swelled, the wound opening every time Alex spoke. 

At first Aaron’s intention had been to start with an ice pack, but instead he started with a wet towel. He settled tentatively on his knees at Alex’s feet, leaning forward to get a good look. They were close like this, and Aaron softly brushed a strand of hair out of his face, and gently touched his bloody nose with the towel. Alex groaned when it first touched his face, but his eyes remained shut. 

“Cold,” he complained. “Fuckin’ cold. Fuckin’ Jefferson.” 

“I know. I'm just trying to clean your face up a little.” 

“Yeah. Just cold,” He shifted in his seat. He was sitting forward, Aaron was on his knees between his legs. Face to face, but the other man's eyes were closed. He held onto Alex’s knee for support. “He was talkin’ shit, Lee and him. We had to fight ‘em.” Aaron dabbed at his upper lip, which was dark with dried blood. 

“You didn't have to do anything, Alex. You could have let it be. We could have went inside, we could've danced.” God, was he drunk? He couldn't stop the words coming out of his mouth. 

“I like dancing with you, Aaron,” He replied, and blindly, his hands searched for Burr, finding a forearm and staying there. Was Aaron imagining this? Was this, a hand on his arm, an off comment about liking him, an invitation? He didn't know, but his pulse sped up anyway. He cleared his throat, lowered the towel. 

“You just like dancing. Who was the girl you were with tonight?” Methodically, ignoring his racing heart, he grabbed some antibacterial cream. 

“Eliza Schuyler,” His thumb was rubbing at Aaron's tricep. “She's nice. She wanted to dance, and no one else did, and she's rich so she was buying my drinks.” Burr gritted his teeth. 

“Is that all it takes for you to like someone?” That's all Burr had done. Bought him a drink, shared with him a dance. Was he just a spot that needed filling? “This might sting.” 

“Ow,” He said as Aaron applied the cream to the cut on his lip, and under his swollen eye, where the skin had broken. “Doesn't take money and a nice ass for me to like people. Just dance with ‘em, fuck ‘em,” Aaron gaped, and Alex kept going, “Don’t have to really like the people you're fucking. I don't. Do you?” 

“Do I like who I have sex with?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes. This is,” Burr looked away uncomfortably, despite Alex’s eyes being closed. “We don't have to talk about this.” He snatched up the frozen peas and handed them to Alex. “Put this on your eye.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, pressing the bag to his swollen eye. One hand was still resting on Burr’s arm. “And sorry. Can I have a drink?” Aaron was taken aback. 

“Seriously? Alex, you're hammered.” 

“It's wearing off. Plus it's only,” Finally, Alex opened his good eye, checking his phone for the time. “Midnight. Aaron, I was the first one to leave at my own party, that's so lame, drink with me.” 

Their faces were too close, their bodies were too close, they were staring at each other. An unsaid staring contest. With one eye, Alex was looking Aaron over, scanning his face for… Something. It was Burr that blinked first. Nervous, he stood up, walked into the kitchen. 

“I'll I've got is rum and Coke.”

“That'll do.” 

And just like that they were drinking, heavily, tangled up on Aaron’s couch watching a Friends rerun. And Aaron was trying not to think about how volatile the man beside him was, tried not to wondered what he wanted with him, tried to swallow down mixed emotions and mixed drinks. 

Alex had dug through his phone to find a Friends drinking game, so they followed the show tirelessly, scanning for times they could drink. 

“Hah!” Alex cried, “Phoebe said something weird, drink!” 

“That's not on there,” Aaron argued, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at the rules. Alex retaliated, scooting away and holding his phone out of reach. 

“Fuck you, drink!” They both drank. 

“Who's your favourite?” Alex asked, motioning at the tv. He had now sprawled out, legs dangling off the armrest, back pressed up against Burr’s side, head at his shoulder. They weren't looking at each other, and Aaron liked it that way. 

“Monica,” Burr answered easily. “She's kind, but also self-preserving. And she’s a good cook, and she’s smart, and she has good jokes. Who's yours?” Alex finished his drink before answering. 

“Joey. He's hot and funny. He tries really hard for the things he wants, he’s kinder than necessary, he fucks around and never settles down and no one judges him for it.” 

“Hmm.” The comforting sound of scripted conversation, audience laughter. A bottle of rum sat on the floor beside them, draining away by the minute. Aaron’s head was starting to feel heavy, his vision was blurring. At some point, between the liquor, the late hour, and the lulling sound of the tv, he began to warm to Alex’s touch.

“How's your face?” Burr asked as he poured himself a drink. Alex sat up to do the same. 

“Good. Can't even feel it right now, just feels weird, but it might hurt later. Prolly will hurt later.” Burr handed him the bottle, cracked him a can of Coke. 

“Mhmm,” He said. “How's the lip? It looked bad before.” 

“You tell me,” Alex said, and turned to him, sticking out his bottom lip. Burr looked at it, looked at him. His eye was going black and blue. His hair was wild. He looked thoughtful. He looked feral. He looked perfect. It occurred to Aaron, and it had never had before, that it would be nice to kiss him. Heat started to rise in his face, build in his stomach. He was drunk, he was very drunk. 

“Well?” Alex was looking at him expectantly. 

“How drunk are you?” Burr asked. His heart was beating madly, was his heart okay, he wondered if he should see a doctor about it. Alex laughed. 

“Can't feel my legs. You?” Burr just nodded. He was staring at his lips, his busted lip, wondering if it would hurt him, if he would wince. Gingerly, he moved a piece of wild hair out out Alex’s eyes. Aaron was drunk. He was drunk, and he wanted to kiss him. He took a deep breath. 

“Alex, can I-” 

A phone rang. Hamilton’s phone. It sat on his lap, blasting Nicki Minaj. Alex blinked. 

“I should take this,” he said. He stood up, leaving Aaron, who let his breath go, cursing himself. 

“Hello?” Hamilton said into the phone, sounded uncharacteristically exasperated. He wandered off a little ways, into the kitchen. Aaron watched him leave forlornly, any courage he had built up leaving him in an instant.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Honestly. I'm at Aaron’s place,” he laughed, suddenly. “No, Burr! Yes, you idiot. I dunno, maybe. Well no, I think I'll stay in with him,” a glance in Burr’s direction. When they made eye contact, Alex winked. Burr’s heart leapt. He seriously thought he may have a heart condition.

“Sorry, John,” Burr had to keep from rolling his eyes at that. Of course, of course it was John Laurens calling. “I don't like saying no to you, but… Fuck. Don't do this. Come on, that isn't fair, you would do the same fucking thing. Oh, that's bullshit. I have to go, I really can't talk right now. It's not! No. I never said that. Please, I'll call you tomorrow,” a hand ran through his hair, and more than ever he looked tired. “Go to bed, drink some fucking water, I'll call you tomorrow if you're still mad at me. Fuck. Goodnight.” 

He walked back to the couch, tense, and set his phone on the coffee table, none too gently. 

“Can I go to bed?” Alex asked. Burr blinked up at him. 

“I- uh. Yeah. The bed is the door to the right, if you wanna-” 

“Will you sleep with me?” 

“Um.” 

“Relax, Aaron. Not sex. Will you just,” he fiddled with his hands, looking embarrassed. Looking dejected. “Lay with me? I don't like to sleep alone.” 

“Who does?” Aaron asked, and then noticing how uncomfortable Alex looked, added, “Yeah, sure. I'll sleep with you.” 

Aaron led him to the bedroom, turning all his lights off as they went. Apparently frightened by the sudden darkness, Alex grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and let him guide them blindly under the covers of his bed. 

As soon as they laid down, Alex’s head was on his chest, his body curled up into him, and Aaron welcomed the embrace. His hand found Alex’s hair, and he let his fingers get tangled in it. Their legs knotted together, Alex’s arm draped over his torso. Their breathing synchronized. Burr felt comfortable. Something about this reminded him of Theodosia, of days spent cuddled in bed, never finding a good enough reason to leave. He was drunk. He was enjoying this. 

“Talk,” Alex said. His ear was pressed to Aaron’s chest, anticipating. 

“Hello.” Alex giggled.

“Again.”

“What was the phone call about?” He didn't know why he was asking. It was none of his business. Alex sighed.

“Laurens. We're kinda… I dated him, in college. Sort of dated. We fucked. And we’re fucking again, but I don't want it to turn into anything. It wasn't good, the last time. I mean, it was, but. I don't know.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” 

“It's okay. Just complicated,” Aaron could hear him let out a quiet sigh. “Talk again.” 

“I don't know what you want me to talk about.” Burr stared at the dark ceiling, curling his fingers in Alex’s hair. 

“Just talk. I like how it rumbles. Tell a story.” Burr laughed. He wasn't a storyteller like Alex was. He couldn't spin tales that entranced audiences, couldn't make people believe what he conjured up. He could hardly string a sentence together without going over it three times in his head. 

“Once upon a time, there was a strange man. Every day, he took the subway home, and danced to music that no one could hear,” Alexander laughed softly, curling deeper into Aaron's body. He was drunk, he was yawning. “Nobody knew who the man was, and everyone who took the subway thought he was crazy, and delusional. Until one day, when the mad man stopped dancing, and took a nap on the train, missing his stop...” 

They fell asleep clinging to one another, the story half finished on Aaron's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aghhh... Laurens being a cockblock may become a reoccurring theme. 
> 
> Also, I have no idea who their favourite Friends characters would be! I put some thought in my choices, but tell me what you think! And, who would Jeffersons fave be? Angelica's?? Sorting people into Friends characters is almost as important as sorting them into hogwarts houses!


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up next to someone he'd only known for a week was a completely foreign experience to Aaron, but for Alex it seemed a natural occurrence. When Aaron woke up, head pounding, he turned to see Alex was sitting cross legged on the bed, hunched over his phone, humming quietly.

“Hhnng,” Burr groaned, pulling the covers over his head, trying to block out the light of the morning sun.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Alex said, too cheerfully.

“Hhhnng.” He stuffed his face into a pillow.

“Don't like mornings?” Alex asked.

“Don't like hangovers,” Aaron muttered from underneath a pile of blankets. Alex laughed. “Why are you up so early?”

“Writing,” Hamilton replied, and Aaron could feel the mattress shift as he hopped off the bed. “Turns out, Jefferson, Madison, and Lee all have Twitter. So I've been saying some choice words about trans rights. I've been shit talking all morning.”

“Lovely,” Aaron said, forcing himself into a sitting position, despite the objections of his pounding head. Hamilton was shirtless, his back to Burr, pulling his hoodie over his head. When did he take that off? “So you sat on my bed, tweeting, and watching me sleep. Great.”

Instead of denying it, Alex winked.

“You look cute when you're sleeping,” he said. “So innocent.”

“Fuck off.” Aaron threw a pillow at him. He dodged it, and walked out into the living room.

“You want breakfast?” He called out, unseen. “Eggs, or something?” The thought of food made Burr sick. He swung his legs of the bed, following Alex slowly into the kitchen.

“No, thank you. I'll stick to water.” Alex was checking out the fridge, and Aaron snuck up behind him to grab a bottled water.

“Alright, well I'm making eggs, because from the looks of it you don't have any pop tarts.”

He seemed completely at ease in Burr’s kitchen. After searching a few cabinets he found a pan, broke his eggs over it, and whistled to himself as they cooked. He was now showing full side affects of the fight, with the blues and purples of his bruised eye spread to the side of his nose, and upper cheek. His lip had swelled, turning his mouth into a permanent pout, the cut on it was closed up, but big, and ugly looking.

Meanwhile, a very tired Aaron Burr flopped onto the couch and flicked on the tv, wondering where he'd gone wrong. How was it this strange, loudmouth, storm of a man had wound up in his bed, and was now cooking at his stove? His memories of the prior night were blurred, but he recalled his speeding heart, the warmth of his body, looking at his battered face and feeling… Well. Feeling attraction as well as annoyance. God, the man was annoying.

“What're you up to today, Burr?” Alex asked, scooping his food onto a plate, and taking a seat at the table. “Boring, Burr-like things?” Aaron sipped carefully at his water. Alex’s phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it.

“What exactly are things you consider ‘Burr-like’?” Aaron questioned.

“Oh, you know,” Alex offered, “Charging your batteries, plugging yourself into the wall outlet, greasing up your metal joints…” Burr crossed his arms over his chest.

“You think I'm a robot.”

“No!” Alex promised quickly, “You share qualities of a robot; never expressing your opinion, sleeping like a wooden board, occasionally shorting out,” Aaron snorted at that, “But I don't think you're a robot, Aaron, even though Angelica swears you are. I know robots when I see them, you're another species entirely.”

“I can never tell if you know you're being an asshole, or if you're completely oblivious to the words coming out of your own mouth.” He tried not to sound too serious. It was a constant internal battle to decide how to react to Hamilton. Burr set down his empty glass, standing and stretching. The lights were too bright, and he felt a wave of nausea from getting to his feet to fast.

“I'm an asshole,” Alex said. Aaron moved to put his glass in the sink, brushing Alex’s shoulder on the way by. “I've been told enough times to know I'm an asshole. But really, any plans?”

Was he kidding? Burr always got the sense that he was making fun of him, asking Burt if he was single when he knew full well he was, asking about his plans when they were so obviously nonexistent. But then there was the way Alex was looking at him, quizzical and serious, his split lip pulled in a frown.

“Smile more,” Burr reminded him gently. They were face to face, now, too close for Burr’s liking. “And no, I don't have any plans.”

Briefly, he wondered if Alex was going to suggest they hang out for longer, when for the second time, a phone buzzed. This time it was Aaron’s. Expecting it to be some sort of Facebook request, he was surprised when Jefferson’s name popped up on the screen.

From: Thomas Jefferson  
9:56 AM

_Is Hamilton with you? I can't seem to find his number, and multiple sources said that he went back with you to your place last night. If he's there, tell him that Washington has asked to speak with him first thing Monday morning. Tell him it's bad news. Nobody can break a coworkers nose and get away with it. He may as well pack his things now. Get back to me ASAP._

“What is it?” Alex asked, and instead of replying, Burr just held up his phone to show him the message. He watched as Alex's face grew progressively paler. For a moment, he was quiet, blessedly quiet, and then,

“Why is his name in your phone just Thomas Jefferson? You should have him in there as Dick Weasel or something.” Alex snatched the phone to change it.

“Aren’t you worried?” Burr asked. It was a fair question. In the time Aaron had worked at the firm, he'd only spoken to Washington in the job interview, and in casual passing. If it was Burr being scolded, he'd be a nervous wreck. But Hamilton seemed calm. He only shrugged.

“Listen,” he said, handing back the phone, “I have to go. Laurens is trying to call me, and I know we have some shit to talk about,” he clamped a hand on Burr’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting me crash, and for being my doctor,” Aaron laughed at that. “Seriously, I appreciate it. I'd probably still be bleeding on the sidewalk if it wasn't for you.” Aaron didn't want to comment on whether or not that was true.

In a flurry, he was packing up his few things, putting on his shoes and coat, and headed for the door. Aaron stayed standing near the sink, very still.

“Good luck patching things up with your boyfriend,” Burr said, an attempt at a joke. With his hand on the doorknob, Alex turned back and winked.

“I'll text you,” he promised. “And I'll see you Monday. Don't be a robot, Burr!” With that, he was out the door, vanishing from view. And Aaron was alone again.

Usually for Burr, it was easy to return to routine. Eating alone, sleeping alone, going out alone. Wasting away days watching tv and drinking. It was easy to come from work into this life, this cramped space that he controlled every aspect of. Yes, he had sex with people he loved, but they came and went, and he always slipped back into loneliness. Even when Theodosia left, it was easy to lounge around all alone, not talking, not dealing. He liked the quiet. He liked the empty. He liked things he could control, and the less people were around, the more in control he could be. He loved solitude. But as soon as Alex left he couldn't wait to see him again.

He was too hungover to work on his case, too lazy to do housework, too bored to stay at home. Instead, he wasted the day away by walking around the city.

It was beautiful out in the greatest city in the world, during the early youth of winter. The leaves had fallen and littered the ground, making a satisfying crunch when stepped on. It hadn't snowed yet, but the sky was pale and cold, and he could imagine the snowflakes brewing. He stopped in at a coffee shop, warming his hands and stomach with the drink. By the time he was back outside, white crystals of snow were collecting on rooftops, piling on streets, falling from the heavens. He grabbed his phone from the depths of his coat. Cold hands typed out a text.

To: A. Ham ;)  
1:09 PM

_It's snowing!!!_

It was the first snowfall of the year. He didn't think about how strange it was that it was his first instinct to text Alex to tell him about it. He was probably outside himself, running around and gathering the powder into snowballs to throw at any nearby enemies. Aaron could picture it, and smiled to himself. He didn't think it strange, how much Alex made him smile.

 


	7. Chapter 7

When Monday finally arrived, rolling along like a leisurely jogger, Aaron was not prepared for what it would bring. He'd woken with a spring in his step, excited about his new case, about hearing stories of Hamilton’s weekend. He caught the train, which he rode alone in the mornings, for Alex was already in the area, dropping off anything political he'd written to an editor of papers or magazines. His work hardly made the paper. Too biased. He was better suited for blogging. 

So he took the train alone, and he didn't mind. And when he spilled his coffee on himself after a particularly rude person bumped his arm while he was trying to drink, he didn't mind. And when he got to the firm, taking out his key only to find the door was already open, and Eliza Schuyler was roaming around the office… Well. 

“Hello!” She said, too cheery, walking briskly over to him. “I don't think we’ve met. Elizabeth Schuyler.” Dumbfounded, Burr let his hand be shook. 

“Aaron Burr.” 

“Ah, so you're who Alex wouldn't shut up about the other night! Pleasure to meet you!” 

“Pleasure’s mine,” Burr lied, “Is Alex here?” He forced himself out of the doorway, and past Eliza to put his things in his own office. 

“Yes,” she said, following him in, “He's meeting with Washington, my father, and Jefferson. He seemed nervous when I saw him. Do you think he'll get fired?” Burr huffed, and sat down at his desk. 

“I'm not sure. It isn't my decision.” He tried to tell himself that Alex getting fired wouldn't affect him. Aaron would still have a job regardless, anyone else being canned shouldn't bother him. Despite the fact that work would go back to being hell if Alex left, he didn't intend to let the presence or absence interfere with his work. He also didn't intend to let the morning’s meeting disrupt his day, but already Eliza was at his desk putting a wrench in his plan. 

She didn't seem to understand social cues, for when Burr was seated at his desk, clearing his throat, and starting up his computer, she didn't leave him alone. It was similar to Hamilton, the way she wandered around the office, trying to keep a conversation, and clearly not compressing that he wanted to be alone. Except when Hamilton did it, it was funny, and Burr could get him to leave by yelling “Get lost!”. With Eliza, that might be a bit rude. 

“I hope he's not too afraid,” Eliza pondered, picking up and studying Burr’s framed photographs. “He's so young, and father and Washington can be so harsh. He was only standing up for Peggy, he didn't mean to break Thomas’ nose. I'm going to speak in his defence, if need be.” Burr rolled his eyes. 

“Good luck.” From behind his desk, he studied the girl. That's what she was; a girl. No more than a teenager, or at least she didn't look it. Dark hair, dark eyes, with an innocence about her, a naivety. She was young and she was rich and she had never felt pain. Burr envied her for that. 

“I'm surprised we’re only meeting now, Aaron,” she said, all smiles, as she examined the room. “Angelica’s told me about you, and father speaks highly of your work.” That astonished Burr. From the beginning of his career to now, he couldn't remember a single time Mr. Schuyler, Washington, or anyone else had praised the work he did. So far it seemed he was a steady rock for the firm; doing his job well, exceptional even, never faltering, but also never exceeding the expectations he'd set for himself. He was not brash. He was not hour long rants, or speeches about morals. He was not Hamilton. 

“Well, thank you,” Aaron said, changing his mind and liking the girl. “I'm glad that you-” 

“Burr,” a voice called from outside his office. “Can I speak with you a moment?” Washington. Burr could tell his deep, commanding voice anywhere. 

“Certainly, sir,” Aaron all but squeaked. His hands shook as he stood up from his desk, his heart went haywire. Even if he didn't admit it, Aaron was afraid of Washington. They almost never spoke, save a few passing greetings, despite the fact that every other employee claimed to have a great relationship with the boss. With everyone else, he would talk and laugh and listen. Even Jefferson bragged about their apparent closeness, saying Washington even invited him golfing in the summers. 

Aaron got the sense that Washington hated him. That he'd only hired him because of his parent’s legacy, and only kept him around as a joke. Aaron hated being a joke. He hated being hated. So he went to meet his boss with all the courage he could muster, and a heart panicking away in his chest. 

“What is it?” He asked. Fake casual. Arms crossed over his chest, keeping his heart from bursting. Breathe. 

“It's about Hamilton.” Washington’s face was stern, his mouth was a straight line, his forehead was wrinkled, his brows were drawn together. 

Aaron didn't know how to reply. He kept quiet, in fear that if he spoke he would stumble and blubber like a fish out of water. He kept his head down and waited for Washington to continue, staring at his shoes until the man finally continued. 

“You were there on Friday night, is that right?” His eyes seemed to be drilling holes into Burr. 

“Yes, sir.” He couldn't look up. Couldn't meet the searing stare. Another long pause. 

“Well,” Washington prodded, impatient. “What happened?” 

Burr didn't want to tell the man anything he didn't already know. He didn't want to seem like he was picking sides, he didn't want to act involved in the foolish fighting.

“I got to the bar late, sir. I didn't see the whole thing,” again, he waited for Washington to speak, and when he didn't, carried on. “They were all very drunk, and arguing about nothing. They were all yelling when I got there. John Laurens, one of Alex’s friends, was hammered, and asked Lee to step outside and fight. I left the table where they all were for a moment, and then was called outside because a fight had broken loose. It was a stupid fight, if I may, sir,” he couldn't stop the next words from coming out of his mouth. “Nothing to lose your job over.” 

“You don't think I should fire Hamilton?” Only now did Burr glance up, and the look in Washington’s eye was more curious than angry. 

“I- no. Alex isn't- I think it's- I don't have the authority…” Washington seemed amused at his struggle. Aaron cleared his throat, regained his composure. He spoke, again, to the floor. “Yours is the final decision on the matter, sir. Don't let my opinion sway you.” 

“Well, I'm asking your opinion, Burr,” Washington said. “I'm aware you spend quite a lot of time with Hamilton. I'm also aware that you would never state your own opinion about something unless you truly believed it.” Burr didn't understand where he was going with this. 

“Sir-”

“I'm not firing Hamilton,” Washington cut across. Burr couldn't stop the sigh of relief that he expelled at the news. Maybe he did care a little that Alex stayed working here. Maybe he wasn't as impartial as he thought he was.

“But,” Washington continued, and Burr looked up in time to catch a flash of mischief in his eyes. “I can't have him go without punishment, or Jefferson would sue. I decided to cut his overtime for a month. He works too much as it is, I can't always be paying him for it. But that wasn't enough. I don't believe he's prone to violent episodes, but given that it was only his first week and he got into a fight, I can't put him in front of a judge, not alone.” Burr raised an eyebrow, and Washington smiled. “As of now, Alexander won't get any cases of his own. Instead, I'm having him assist you with yours.” Burr blinked. Why were people constantly astounding him? He couldn't go through a single day without something depressingly peculiar happening to him. 

“You want Hamilton to be my assistant counsel?” He could almost imagine it. Burr and Hamilton, side by side in a courtroom. Hamilton barking demands and cursing juries, Burr silent beside him, twiddling his thumbs. What a sight that would be. 

“More like co-counsel.” 

“Why me? Why do I have to be punished for something Hamilton did?” 

“You don't have to do it if you don't want to,” Washington promised. “It would look good on a resume. It would expose you to different thinking, and allow you to interact with your coworkers. I want you to, Burr, but I won't force you. Will you, or won't you? I can ask Angelica.” Gears turned in Burr’s head. He didn't want to do anything without weighing the pros and cons, calculating the outcomes. 

“Okay,” he said, looking Washington in the eyes as he said it. “I'll work with him.” His boss smiled, nodded, and turned back into his office without another word. 

Twenty minutes later, a weary, but smiling Alexander Hamilton turned up in his doorway. 

“Howdy, partner,” he said, face contorted by his feral grin. Burr couldn't help but smile back. 

“Howdy. I take it you're not fired?” The smile only widened. Smile more. This was why he always said that; Alex’s face lit up when he smiled. He was a radiant force of nature. 

“Nope! Thanks to you. Washington says you plead a mean defence. Thank you.” 

“I didn't do much,” he said truthfully. Alex just scoffed. 

“God, Burr, don't be modest. It makes the rest of us feel like assholes,” he laughed, suddenly. “Speaking of, have you seen Jefferson yet? He looks totally fucked, I broke his nose.” 

“Yeah,” Burr replied, shuffling some papers around. “Eliza was saying-” 

“Eliza’s here?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, she's at the front desk with Maria. She was here first thing in the morning, she practically…” When he looked up, Alex had disappeared. He could be heard, shouting happy exclamations. A joyous reunion. Burr visualized the two of them dancing that last weekend, and shuttered. 

Alex was with Eliza all day. Their laughter was contagious, it echoed the halls. At lunch, rather than getting coffee with Burr, Alex went out with her, laughing and clasping her hand as they left the office. They seemed perfectly smitten. It didn't bother Aaron. Not at first. 

But then the next day came, and Eliza arrived bright and early to the firm, flirting loudly with Alex until lunch, when they went out together, again. And the day after that, there she was. The next one? Same thing. The days she was too busy to drop into work, they met up somewhere in the city. When Alex worked through lunch hour, they went out for dinner. It was never given a name, so Burr remained hopeful, until one morning when Alex let it slip. 

“I can't work too late tonight, I've got a date with Eliza, but you can come over afterward, and we can work then.” Aaron tried not to let his face fall. Alex didn't realize what he'd just confirmed, just carried on about the case they were working on. That day Burr went home early. He said he was sick. 

He still went to Alex’s that night, couldn't pass up the opportunity to see the man's living conditions. Also, he felt better if he went out once or twice a weekend. He felt real. 

He showed up to Hamilton’s apartment with case files and a bottle of wine. Only the latter of which was needed. As it turned out, when Alex and his friends weren't drunk and rowdy at the bar, they were drunk and rowdy in his cramped apartment in upper west Manhattan. The whole crew was there, gathered around a kitchen table; Herc and Peggy, doing shots, Laf serenading Angelica in French, Laurens laughing at nothing. And of course, Alexander, one arm around Eliza’s waist, one holding open the door. 

“Come on in, Aaron,” he said. Was the first name an accident? It seemed too intimate a thing to say with a woman on your hip. “Ooh, wine! You shouldn't have,” he snatched it from Burrs grasp. “Boys, wine!” 

“Ze drink of my people, merci!” Lafayette shouted. Aaron liked Laf. The Frenchman always seemed comfortable, wherever he was. Now, he leaned against his chair, inspecting the bottle of wine as it was handed to him. In fact, Burr had grown to like all of Alex’s friends. Mulligan was loud, with a crude sense of humour and more funny sex stories than Aaron could experience in three lifetimes. Even Laurens, with his borderline alcohol abuse and his obnoxious urge to pick fights, Burr could handle. 

He was welcomed in, and quickly ushered to a chair, case files thrown aside. The apartment seemed to be full of things thrown aside, it was piled high with open books and scraps of paper. 

“We’ve got the case in our pockets anyway,” Alex promised. “Our witnesses are solid, we have a counter if they go with the assault angle, we can't lose,” he beamed at Burr, then turned to his girlfriend. “You hear that? My first big case, I've got the best lawyer in New York beside me, and we can't lose!” 

They kissed. Everyone at the table groaned and shouted, and went back to their drinks. 

“Get a room!” Mulligan cried, to laughter. 

Aaron was focused in on the way Alex’s hand curled around the back of her neck, the gentle accuracy at which his lips worked against her. He'd called Burr the best lawyer in New York. A heat rose in his face. 

“Burr,” Laurens whispered, nudging him. “Quit staring.” His eyes were dilated, his cheeks red. 

“I wasn't.” However much Burr tolerated Laurens, he couldn't stand him in this state. Drunk, or high, or whatever. 

“I can't blame you,” Laurens said, ignoring him. “Look at them. Look. So happy, and in love. Doesn't it make you're heart swell up inside, doesn't it make you ache?” 

Burr looked. They were side by side at Alex’s counter. He was reaching over her to grab wine glasses, she was struggling with the cork. A picture of domesticity. Alex was smiling. He smiled more and more these days, just like Burr had told him to. His heart thrashed in his chest. Laurens must have noticed a look on his face. 

“I feel sorry for you,” He said. “It’s easy to fall in love with him, but so hard to stay. He's an asshole, and he's perfect, and he's mad. I bet it hurts, doesn't it? It hurts not being his favourite anymore,” Aaron didn't reply, didn't even acknowledge Laurens was speaking, just watched Alex, pretended that he didn't feel a thing. “Be careful, Burr,” he warned. “That man will ruin you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a while! And I'm sorry for the angst. 
> 
> Im not sorry for breaking Jefferson's nose.


	8. Chapter 8

~~~~

Burr was cracking up. He was cracking up. The world was easier when he didn't know Alex existed. Easier when he was a stranger on the subway, easier when Aaron couldn't get close enough to see his eyes light up when he talked. He was going mad. He was losing it. He was angry.

“I'm scared,” Alex said.

“It'll be fine.”

“You don't know that.”

“You said it yourself the other night. You said it was in the bag.”

“What do I know? They could have found new evidence, they could have paid off the judge, what if-”

“Alex.”

“What?”

“Breathe.” They were in a shadowed hallway of the courthouse, Alex slumped against the wall and breathing too quick, Aaron reviewing notes. Their first case together. Alex’s first murder trial.

Burr assessed the situation. It was the first time he'd seen Hamilton truly vulnerable, hunched over, focused on breathing, hands clenched in fists. Even after the fight, he'd kept his guard up, never letting the know-it-all facade slip. Now, Alex looked close to tears, and Aaron had no idea how to handle it.

“Did you talk to Weekes?” Burr finally broke the silence. “I like to touch base with clients before we get to the courtroom, calm their nerves. Not that you'd be very good at calming.”

“Fuck off,” Alex huffed, but seemed to appreciate the sentiment. He sighed, ran a hand through surprisingly tame hair. He'd dressed up for the event, a suit and tie, with cufflinks and everything. Obviously it had been borrowed, given the bad ironing job and the way the pants pooled around his legs, but he looked good. Scared shitless, but good. “It's just, this might make the news. My name could be in papers, we could be on CNN! I can't do this, I can't, I can't. I'm not cut out for this. Jesus, how are you so relaxed?”

Burr had been raised in a world of cufflinks and tacky ties. His suit had been tailored, his  
shoes shone.

“Before my first case, I cried for twenty minutes,” He admitted.“I freaked out, ran into the court bathroom and bawled. Angelica told me that during her first recess, she threw up in the parking lot. There's a rumour Jefferson shit his pants during his opening statement. You're alright.”

Alex blinked up at him, a strange look on his face. Shit, Burr thought. Was that a dumb thing to say? Does he think I'm a coward?

He seemed about to reply, when out of nowhere, with a flourish of her pastel skirt, Eliza appeared, attacking Alex in a hug. Any worry on Alex’s face seemed to dissipate.

“You're going to be amazing!” She exclaimed into his chest. She moved to nuzzle herself closer to his body, and he obliged, wrapping her up in his arms. “You look great, the suit is great, you're going to be amazing!”

“Are you sure it doesn't look too huge?” Alex was grinning, looking down at Eliza with doe eyes. “I borrowed it from Laf, he's like a head taller than me.” Eliza pulled out of the embrace, shook her head.

“It looks good,” she gave him a quick kiss. “You're going to blow them away.” Without a word or glance in Burr’s direction, they walked into the courtroom together, hand in hand.

It was Aaron's turn to take some deep breaths. He stood alone in the hall for a few moments, then had no choice but to trail in after them. He caught the door before it closed behind the two of them, and slid into the courtroom. He was flustered, with Alex and with his entire life, but he could do his job. Law was the one thing that made sense. He closed the court doors gently behind him.

Two hours later they emerged, Alex looking exuberant, Eliza; elated, and Burr; furious. The couple was holding hands, hadn't stopped chattering since they'd been dismissed. Clenching his teeth and his fists, Burr followed closely behind them, wanting to say something, but not wanting to snap. Keep calm, he told himself. Smile.

“Hey,” Washington stopped them in the hall, grabbing Alex by the arm. “Great work today, Hamilton. I'm starting to see why I hired you.”  
To Burr, he said nothing.

“Hamilton!” Philip Schuyler called out from behind them, jogging to catch up. He brushed right past Burr to shake Alex’s hand. “Good job. Phenomenal case work. You’ve got a very promising future ahead of you.” He scurried off without another word.

They made their way outside the courthouse, not without being stopped by seemingly everyone on the block, who just had to come up and congratulate Hamilton on his hard work. “What a great lawyer,” they'd say. “And so young! You must be a genius!” Burr was overlooked. He was young, he was smart, he was great, but he was lost in Hamilton’s long shadow.

Finally, they got to the steps, where sunshine was reflecting off snow, making the world dizzily bright. Clambered down steps to the sidewalk. The couple still held hands, and Burr stalked behind them, like a phantom, a shadow, an uninvited third wheel. It was then, outside, with the winter’s sun in their eyes, when Alex finally turned to Burr.

“So?” He asked, eyebrows wiggling. The first time acknowledging his presence since the morning's conversation. Burr couldn't scour his brain for something appropriate to say.

“What the fuck was that?” Was all he could come up with. Alex frowned, Eliza gasped.

“What?” They had stopped walking now, and were standing still in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. Like rocks in a stream, the crowd flowed around them.

“What was that, Hamilton?” He was glaring at Alex, fire in his eyes. All the compliments had gone to him, his beautifully spun sentences, his beliefs. They were ignorant of all the real work, the work that Burr had done. “The judge asks for an opening statement, you ramble on for forty minutes, after I fucking told you we weren't even going to give one!”

“I sensed that we needed one,” Alex responded, ignorant. “I improvised. Are you mad at me?”

“You called me your assistant counsel.”

“Huh?” Burr wanted to hit him, wanted to strangle him, squeeze the life out of him until he understood what was going on.

“You called me your assistant fucking counsel.”

“Did I?” He was gripping Eliza’s hand, knuckles white. He, too, was angry now. “Maybe because I did all the speaking, all the heavy lifting, all the damn work!”

“You think you're better than me, Hamilton?” He spat. Calling him Hamilton, hoping he'd sense the power of the first name. “Is your brain so twisted with narcissism that you think it's _me_ assisting _you_? Fuck you, fuck you!” He was almost screaming, face red. Heads were turning, he was making a scene. He felt wild, he felt like Hamilton; yelling his feelings freely, not considering consequences. “I don't have to help you, I could have told Washington to fire you. I do you a favour, and all I get in return is assistant fucking counsel?”

Hamilton went pale, his face twisted with rage. Burr braced for the words, or the punch, that was sure to come. But to his surprise, none came. Instead, Alex turned to Eliza, his eyes narrowed, breaths coming fast and sharp.

“Why don't you go home with your dad? Burr and I need to talk.” A fear flickered in Eliza’s eyes, and she threw Aaron a look of pity, and walked away. Alex watched her leave. As soon as she was out of earshot he whipped around to face Burr.

“What do you think you're doing, Burr?” he asked. Spitting the last name like a curse. “You wanna fight? I'm not afraid to fight you.”

Aaron grinned, glad to finally be getting a reaction. In truth, he felt an urge to pulverize Alex, wanted to kick his ass, but something was holding him back.

“You wouldn't last a minute against me, you'd need my emergency kit again.”

“Try me, bitch!” Alex shouted, rocking on his heels, fists up. With a sort of manic energy, he addressed Burr. “I'm not a child, Aaron, don't go easy. You don't call me out in front of my girlfriend, I'll break your fucking face!” Like a small dog with a big bark. He looked so small, standing ready in his oversized suit, frail and skinny and with circles under his eyes. “Let's go, come on!”

Suddenly, the fight drained from Burr. His anger evaporated, and he was left again with an overwhelming emptiness. A lonely ache. He studied the man across from him and found it wasn't him he was really mad at.

“Don't call me your assistant again.”

“Well, don't shit talk me in front of Eliza,” Alex said, not through shouting yet. “Do you have any idea how fucking humiliating-”

“I bet it was almost as bad as being considered an assistant to a case you're supposed to be in charge of,” Burr cut across. He was tired, now. He wanted to go home. “Let's just drop it.”

“Why won't you fight me?” Alex lowered his fists, stopped rocking.

“It wouldn't look very professional if two partners started punching each other out in the middle of the street.” Hamilton laughed, a bitter, strained sound. An awkward silence ensued. They stood there, not looking at each other, not talking.

Burr was mentally kicking himself for the outburst. Shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have let himself get angry. He was a fool for getting worked up, a fool for caring. For some reason hearing that he was lesser than Alex, hearing it from Alex himself, was like a bullet wound. But he should have known anger wouldn't stop the bleeding.

Alex began to walk away, and with a sigh, a weariness that resonated deep down in his soul, Burr followed.

“What are you chasing after me for?” Alex groaned when Burr caught up to him. “Didn't humiliate me enough before? Yelling at me in front of my girlfriend wasn't enough for you? Sure, yeah, let's go down to my mother’s gravestone, and you can tell _her_ how I’m a shitty person. Or my father, even better! Send him a letter, tell him how much of a fucking failure I am! Maybe he'll even answer that one!”

Burr was taken aback, both by the heat to the words, and the pain in them. There was a deep-rooted hatred there, something Burr hadn't noticed before. Something he could relate to.

“We take the same train, dumbass,” he replied after a beat. “I'm not stalking you.”

They walked, almost side by side, to the subway. Alex was constantly, subtly, trying to take longer strides, create a distance between them. Burr, who would not let himself be beaten, sped up his own pace to keep up. Up until they got on the train, they kept up this little game. A passive aggressive race, of which there was no winner. They refused to speak, or to look at each other, throughout the event.

Only when they got on the subway did Burr give up subtlety, and all but sprinted to the good window seat before Alex could think to. Watching this, Alex shook his head, reaching his seat beside Burr a few moments later.

It came as a bit of a shock to Aaron that, even in their arguments, Alex sat next to him. They didn't speak during much of the ride home; Alex worked on his laptop and Aaron pretended to sleep to avoid confrontation. But their arms shared an armrest, brushing up against each other, and every once and awhile, the train would jostle, and their knees would bump. Burr had to squeeze his eyes shut during these moments, and hope his pounding heart didn't give him away.

After some time, a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“My stop is coming up,” Alex said, tidying up his work station, tucking his laptop under his arm. “I didn’t want you to sleep through yours.” Burr smiled.

“Thank you.” He wasn't mad at Alex, not really. He was mad at the man's success, at his easy charm, the way he made everyone fall in love with him. His smile, his face, his eyes. Oh, how hard it was not to fall in love with him.

The subway was lurching to a stop, and Alex stood. As he was about to leave, Burr spoke up.

“Alex?” He turned back, looking bristled, prepared for an attack. “Apart from going against my orders, and calling me your inferior, you did a good job today.”

An odd look passed Alex’s face, and Burr thought he saw the ghost of a smile on his lips, when the subway doors opened, and he was swept away in the crowd of commuting New Yorkers, lost in a sea of the heads and shoulders of people Aaron didn't care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of all over the place. Looking over this chapter, I can pretty much guarantee that by the end of this, Ham and Burr's relationship will be the most It's Complicated™ thing to ever grace this earth. 
> 
> Completely unrelated, you people are all really cool, so feel free to hmu on my tumblr: aarronnburr (it's the ham trash blog I just made).
> 
> Thanks for reading! *finger guns*


	10. Chapter 10

__

The ringing bells, the carolling children, and the sudden increase of old, fat, bearded white men on the street should have been hint enough, but Aaron kept forgetting about Christmas.

Normally, Christmas meant nothing to him. Having no family to celebrate with, and very few people willing to invite him over for turkey dinner, mostly he spent the holiday alone. And he wasn't bitter about it, he'd just never felt very attached to the holiday. The closest he got to having Christmas spirit was drinking spiked eggnog and watching Elf.

Holidays also meant a week off work. Not all firms gave time off, and had there been any upcoming court dates they wouldn't have taken it. As it was, Washington was impressed with everyone's work, and claimed it to be unethical to give any less than a week off. Seven days of boredom, self-loathing, and impersonal gifts from distant family members. Burr dreaded those empty days.

The holiday was fast approaching, and on the last Tuesday until the break, Angelica made an announcement.

“Attention,” she called out from her place at the coffee machine, where most people- Jefferson, Lee, Madison- were already gathered. “Attention! Everyone, get out here! Maria, come on, you'd better hear this. Hamilton, Burr!” They both emerged from their respective offices, Burr, feeling exhausted, didn't even look at him. Angelica waved an ushering hand at them.

“Gather around, you two. Important news!” She stood in apprehension for a moment, eyeing her coworkers as they pondered her curiously.

“Well, spit it out!” Lee snapped, and Madison gave him a glare.

“We’re having a Christmas party!” Angelica declared, giddy. Receiving her were looks of either bemusement or irritation. Jefferson booed. “Oh don't be like that, it's going to be fun! Friday night, after work, there's gonna be music, we’re gonna have gingerbread men,” when met with more blank, unimpressed looks, she added, “there's an open bar.”

Jefferson cheered.

“Do you mind if I bring a guest?” Alex asked, and of course. Classic Hamilton, incapable of being alone. He wouldn't even show up to the event unless he could bring Eliza, and if not her, then Laurens. Needy, horny and weak, and Angelica seemed to be thinking the same thing, because she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Hamilton, you can grind on my sister to top 40 hits,” she snorted, and the crowd jeered. “Y'all can bring dates, too, if you like, I don't care. Just come! It'll be great, I'm forcing all of you to attend.”

With the announcement over, Burr snuck away from the chattering crowd, back to his office. He had no intention to go to the party, not with Alex and Eliza there. He quietly hummed away at his computer, lost in thought, when Angelica arrived in his doorway.

“You're coming, right?” she asked, letting herself in, and closing the door behind her. “Tell me you're coming.” She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, high heels on, not about to take any shit.

“Um,” Burr said, and that was all she needed.

“You have to come, Aaron!” she begged. “Please, you’re one of the only people in this office I can stand to be in a room with.”

That took Aaron by surprise. Though they did talk, on occasion, Angelica had never given any hints to actually enjoying Burr’s company. They certainly weren't close enough to be considered friends, even acquaintances. Burr guessed she was only saying that to get him to go to the stupid Christmas party.

“Please,” she said. “Please. Free booze, and we can shit talk Jefferson all night.” She gave him a hopeful, pleading smile, and Burr caved.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But not for very long. I've got more important things to do than get drunk with my coworkers.” A lie, of course. Angelica grinned.

“Yay! Thank you thank you thank you!” And she ran out of the room with a skip in her step.

Even if Burr planned on ditching, Angelica made it impossible. Throughout the rest of the week she sent him texts, twice daily. Reminding him what day it was, asking if he was excited, wondering if she should bring Santa hats for everyone. Despite being irritated, he always replied. And her constant, bubbly thrill for the event was so infectious that, by the time Friday evening rolled around, he, too, was excited.

At 5:01, when the work day had officially ended, someone started blasting music from bulky home speakers. Pop music, as promised. Someone shouted, the volume went up, and pleasant chatter could be heard from outside Burr’s door. From the corner of his desk, Aaron's phone buzzed.

From: Angelica S.   
5:03 PM

_Party’s started! You aren't allowed to lock yourself in your office, come mingle!!_

Burr rolled his eyes, wondering how he was supposed to “mingle” with people he'd been working with for months, and didn't care about whatsoever. Still, he pulled himself from his chair and grudgingly joined the festivities.

Outside Burr’s office opened up to the foyer, an open area normally filled with tacky fake plants, and up from that was the front receptionist desk. The place was usually morbid, painted an oatmeal shade of beige, full of unsmiling faces. Today was no different, besides the green and red streamers hanging from the ceilings, and the foldout tables covered with candy and alcohol.

“There's the Scrooge!” Hamilton was smiling, why was he so smiley? Why did he get be joyful and loud, and get everything he ever wanted? If Burr wasn't cursed with soldier-like self control, he would clock him.

Alex was grinning at him from just outside his office, a hand on Eliza’s hip, the other clenching his drink. Burr couldn't decide what the comment entailed. Were they friends? Was he trying to make fun of him? Things had been tense since their fight, and despite Hamilton’s casual demeanour, it was hard to hide the fact that their friendship was not the same, that they hadn't spoken in days.

“I'm not a Scrooge,” he shot back, weakly. He felt stranded, all alone in the middle of the room. Eliza and Alex against him. Two against one. It was always two against one.

“I call bullshit.” That came from Angelica, who was walking briskly from the meeting room, just in time. Two against two. “‘Liza, you'll never meet someone who hates Christmas more than this guy, he'd rather listen to radio static than Christmas music, he hates the ugly sweaters, he doesn't even own a strand of Christmas lights!” She shuddered. “I can’t stand too close to him, or it rubs off on me.”

Eliza laughed, and Hamilton’s smile seemed to falter, just a hint. His eyes darted from Angelica to Burr, studying.

“Yeah, Burr really is something, isn't he?” Their eyes met, fire and ice. Burr was entranced, unable to look away. The silence stretched for a moment too long. Deep, dark eyes, searching him. Burr couldn't breathe. Again, it was Angelica who saved him.

“Come on, Aaron, let’s grab a drink, I'm thirsty,” she said, and dragged him by the arm to the refreshment table. As soon as they were out of earshot, Angelica shot him a hard look.

“What?” Burr started mixing a drink, avoiding eye contact. More rum than Coke in his plastic cup.

“Stop talking to Hamilton. He's fucking with your head.” Burr glanced at her, wondering how much she knew. Her eyes gave nothing away, and they walked into the meeting room without another word on the matter.

The meeting room was where that party was truly at. Speakers were set up in all corners of the room, anyone who wanted to be heard had to yell over the pounding music. Most of the room had been cleared out. It was where they held meetings, so was normally just a couple long tables and spinny chairs. Most chairs and tables had been removed, save one that stood like a beacon of light, in the corner of the room.

However hard Angelica tried to make the party fun, it was not. By 7:00, Burr was tipsy and tired, and wanted to go home. He had migrated to the little table as soon as possible, and sat drinking, mostly alone, but for the odd wanderer who he'd entertain with small talk. At the moment, that wanderer was James Madison.

They sat side by side, a drink in either of their hands. Both quietly took in the events around them. Neither said a word. Jefferson and Hamilton were arguing, pointing fingers, and shouting over music. Burr nodded at them.

“Aren't you going to control your boyfriend?” He asked, maybe a little rudely. Madison just laughed.

“There is no controlling him, not when he's like this,” He watched fondly as Jefferson shouted, spit flying from his mouth. “God, what an idiot. What a dork.”

“How long have you been dating?” Burr didn't know why he was asking, didn't know why he cared. His tongue felt too big, his head felt fuzzy. He was getting drunk. But Madison seemed welcome to the conversation, and answered happily.

“Nearly two years now. But I've known him for eight. We were friends first, I think that's why it works so well,” The way he spoke was trance like, Aaron was falling into it. Imagining the white picket fence. “We know each other. Probably too well. He's a pain in the ass almost all the time, I can't believe I put up with it, but I wouldn't change him if I could, you know? Like, he’s always leaving his socks balled up on the floor. And I hate it, I get so mad. But I don't know what life would be without those socks. Even when I hate him, I love him.”

They watched the fight unfold on the other side of the room. Angelica stepped forward waving her arms, Hamilton and Jefferson bared their teeth at each other. Who knows what the argument was about, definitely something trivial and ridiculous. Alex would have no less.

“I'm happy for you,” Aaron lied, eyes glued on Hamilton as he unrolled his sleeves, and huffed in Jefferson’s direction. What a pain in the ass. His heart, always too fast, had started to beat sporadically. Suddenly he felt like there was no air in the room.

Burr stood. His face felt hot.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled, and staggered away from the table. Jesus, how drunk was he? The room was a wild blur. His feet felt heavy, his movements were sluggish. He left the room as fast as he could manage and made for the bathroom.

At least, he thought he'd been headed for a bathroom. He must have made a wrong turn somewhere. How big was this building? Nothing looked familiar. He tried to read the names on the doors, maybe find his office, but the letters slurred together. He still had his drink in his hand, and downed it quickly.

“Merry Christmas,” he muttered to himself. Another lie. Had his life always been so bleak? He roamed the hallway for some time before finding the room he thought to be the bathroom, and stuffing himself into it, shutting the door behind him.

It was a broom closet. The smell of disinfectant was thick in the air, dirty mops leaned against the wall, their bucket counterparts littering the floor. Burr, finding he could no longer stand, collapsed in a heap among the buckets, the grime, the wet rags. A mouse trap snapped on his foot, and he grunted at the pain of it, but didn't move to get it off. His body had shut down. He didn't have the energy or skill to move. This is where he would die.

Thoughts ran wild in his head. What had he done in a past life to deserve this? He had no friends, no one loves him, no one even cares about him. What was the point of it all? What was the point of ever getting up?

Who knows how long he sat there with his agony, foot throbbing in pain, eyes flickering shut, making no difference in the dark of the closet. It could have been five minutes, or five hours. Maybe he was dead and this was hell. At some point, he'd started singing to himself. Christmas carols, of all things.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la,” his voice echoed back at him, cracked and weak. He couldn't hold his head up, and it landed in a pile of rags. Body twisted, curled up and frail. “Something something something something, fa la la la la, la la la la.” His broken singing had turned into sobs. What a mess. What a life. “Dawn we now our something something-”

Suddenly, the door opened, and buckets clattered to the floor. Light seeped in, Burr had to shield his eyes.

“Oh Christ, Burr?” It was Alex. Great. Just who he wanted to see. “What are you doing in the closet?” He sounded annoyingly sober.

“Please leave.” He couldn't handle this right now, simply couldn't. Alex was a silhouette in the doorway, innocent and curious. Burr was lying in a mess of cleaning supplies, drunk and sad. He couldn't let himself be seen this low.

“Are you crying?” Alex was bending down now, clearing away the debris. Cleaning the mess Burr had made.

“Please leave,” Burr repeated dumbly.

“What's the matter, Aaron?” Hamilton was on his knees beside him, halfway in the broom closet. First name again. “Are you coming out, or am I coming in?”

When Burr didn't reply, Alex scooted closer, picking up cleaners and buckets to give himself room. He squeezed himself into the closet, his legs on either side of Burr, his butt at Burr’s feet. They were across from each other, if Burr raised his head he'd be looking right at him. Alex closed the door.

“Tell me what's going on.”

“Please leave.” Burr refused to look at him. He refused to look at anything. He kept his eyes shut.

“It's really too late for that, Aaron. I'm really fucking tangled. I don't think I could get up if I wanted to.”

“Please.”

“Tell me what's wrong. Or we could just sit here, and you could cry, and my butt could get sore.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I don't need your help.” He didn't want to talk, didn't want to show his feelings, didn't want Hamilton to think him weak. It was hot, in the cramped room, with the two of them in it. At least, Burr felt hot.

“Okay,” Alex sighed, finally giving in. “I can't force you to tell me your problems, but you can trust me with them, you know,” That surprised Burr, and he propped himself up to look at Alex. “I know you kind of hate me about the stuff with the case, I can tell you want to kill me half the time. But I like you, Aaron, I don't like seeing you in pain, that's why I'm trying to help you here. I think you're smart, and funny, and- is that a mouse trap?”

They both stared at the thing as it hung off Aaron’s big toe. Burr gave a weak laugh.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Fuck, Aaron. Here, let me,” Alex struggled to get in a position where he could look at it properly. Eventually he ended up on his knees with Aaron's foot in his crotch, inspecting the trap like a parent lacing up a kid’s shoe. He tried to lift up the metal part, but it abruptly snapped back down again, and Aaron yelped in pain. “Maybe if you didn't wear sandals at work, it wouldn't hurt so bad,” Alex scoffed. Burr watched in fascination, as Alex’s eyebrows bunched together on his concentrated face. Eventually, Alex wiggled the trap free from his foot, and held it up in triumph.

“Thanks,” Burr murmured. He couldn't take his eyes of him. “And sandals are practical and comfortable.”

“Clearly, they aren't practical, or we wouldn't be in this position right now,” Alex said, and, suddenly uncomfortable, struggled his way into a standing position. “You wanna get up, now? We can both come out of the closet, so to speak.” Burr laughed, and took Alex’s hand when it was offered, and pulled himself up.

The room seemed even more crowded with them standing. Alex’s hand was still on his, and his other hand splayed out on the wall, holding himself up, and blocking Aaron from the door. Even in the dark, his lips were red and his eyes were bright. He was radiant. The many drinks Burr had churned in his stomach.

“Really, Alex? A gay joke?” They were standing too close. Aaron could feel his breath as he exhaled. There was an odd look on Alex’s face.

“Tell me you're okay,” he said. There was real worry in his voice.

“I'm okay.” Alex was biting his lip.

“Tell me you don't hate me.” His voice was silk. There was something in his tone, something feral.

“I don't hate you.” As he spoke it, he knew it wasn't a lie. It was like what Madison had said. He loved him even when he hated him. Alex’s hand dropped from the wall to Aaron’s shoulder, to the back of his neck. Time had slowed to a crawl. Aaron's heart did a backflip.

“Tell me you want this.” Burr forgot everything. He forgot anger, he forgot loneliness, he forgot Eliza. The only thing that existed was Alex, and his hand, as it moved to Aaron’s head.

Fingers glided over short cropped hair, tentative and seeking. His eyes shone in the half-darkness of the broom closet. Intelligent eyes. Deep, and dark and searching Aaron's face, mapping him out. Like a snake, measuring their prey before they engulfed it. Aaron's heart was a speeding metronome. He felt like prey. A hand, calloused, warm, moved slowly from its place in Aaron's hair to the nape of his neck. Alex was biting his lip.

They were too close. A half step, and their bodies would touch, and the space seemed to be getting smaller and smaller. And everything was moving too slow and too fast all at once. How long had they been in there, just looking at each other?

Alex's other hand came up, and slowly, gently, he reached out to touch his face. Fingertips felt like static. Caressing his cheek, giving Aaron heart palpitations. His thumb brushed the corner of his lips. And Aaron wanted it bad, he wanted it so bad. He looked back up at Alex, and the eyes that could devour him.

There was still a question on the table. Still an offering. Aaron's mouth opened, just a bit, and he didn't even know the words he was going to say as he was speaking them.

“Please,” He all but choked.

That was all the predator needed, and in an instant the space between them was gone. Alex's lips were on his neck, his hand were running, wildly now, through his hair, Aaron's heart was exploding. And then they were kissing, and Aaron succumbed to the urge to touch him, and he was tangling his hands in Alex's hair, that hair, oh god, and they were kissing, they were kissing, they were kissing.

This was wrong. Terribly wrong. Sloppy kisses, drunk ones, heated ones. Teeth knocked and noses bumped. Alex’s lips, those damn lips, moved against his. There was a heat rising in both of them. Burr couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd taken control, but he had, and Alex was up against the wall, panting into his mouth.

“Your place or mine?” He asked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow. Enjoy this and don't hate me for what comes next. 
> 
> *finger guns*


	11. Chapter 11

  
“Your place or mine?” The words echoed off the walls, dragging Burr back to reality. He untangled his hands from Alex’s hair, took a step back.

“What are you doing?” Burr said, no more than a whisper. Half to himself, half to Hamilton. “You’re dating Eliza.”

“I'm sorry.” he didn't seem sorry. He seemed hungry, like he was ready to lunge at Burr again. It felt hot in the crowded closet. Alex’s hand still gripped his neck. He had to fight himself not to kiss him again.

“You aren't,” Aaron took another step back, escaping his grip, away from him eyes and his lips. “What’s your plan here? Were you going to break up with her? Or just fuck me and leave?”

Hamilton looked lost. Alone, now, and scared.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “I wasn't thinking straight, I just wanted you.”

“You can't have everything you want.” Burr stood there, looked at the other man. He wanted him, yes, he wanted him, but not this way. He knocked over buckets on his way out of the closet, making a clatter, leaving behind a right mess. He shut the door behind him.  
  
Still drunk, and still lost, and now with the feeling of past pressure buzzing on his lips, it was a misfortune and a miracle that he ran into Angelica.

“Hey!” she called as she spotted him, jogging to meet him in the middle of the hallway. “Where have you been?”

“Bathroom,” he lied. “But I'm leaving now.” He started to walk, the direction unknown, away from her.

“What?” She followed after him. “Aaron, I told you I’d give you a ride. How would you get home?” Burr shrugged and kept walking.

“Train, taxi, I don't know. I could walk.” Tears stung at his eyes. He didn't want to cry, he didn't want to cause a scene.

“What’s the matter? What happened?” She wasn't being intrusive, just kind. And she’d been so nice to him in the past little while, that he felt almost at ease letting the words fall from his mouth.

“Alex.” His voice cracked, the floodgates opened and he was crying, again, for what felt like the millionth time that night. Finding himself unable to keep walking, or even stand, he slumped against the wall in defeat. He didn't want to cause a scene, but there he was, blubbering like a fool, and he hid his face in his knees to cover the blotchy redness of his face.

“Hey,” Angelica was soothed, and he could hear her shuffle to sit down beside him. “It’s alright. Forget him, the guy’s an asshole.”

“I know he is,” Burr sniffled, “I know he is, but he’s nice and he's funny and he's smart-”

“And you're obsessed with him,” she said, causing Burr to look up in shock. “You are. He's the only person in your life, Aaron, I’ve noticed it, Laurens has. You look at him like he's the sun, Aarom. He isn't.” Burr knew it was true. Since they'd met, Alex had been with him everywhere he went. He ran Burr’s life, nearly every waking minute was spent thinking of him, reading his articles, following in his footsteps, pondering over his texts. The hurricane had come, and it had destroyed everything in Burr’s life.

“What am I going to do?” He whimpered, to her and to no one. Instead of answering, she gave him a gentle pat on the back.

“Let's get you home,” she said softly, getting to her feet. “Come on, get up, that's it,” Burr got up, taking her hand for assistance. “Wipe your eyes. If Jefferson sees you crying he’ll tear you apart.” Burr obliged, numbly following orders and letting himself be led down the right hallway, and outside to her car. They passed people on their way, and Burr stomached their half-assed goodbye’s.

“See you in a week, Burr, merry Christmas,” Madison said, smiling. His arm was snaked around Jefferson’s waist, and the taller man’s head was nuzzled into his neck, drunkenly whispering into his ear. He must have been saying something offensive, because Madison playfully poked him in the side.

Burr mumbled a reply, but had to look away as the couple giggled to themselves. Happy couples made him sick. That could have been him, a minute ago. If he hadn't started asking questions. He could still feel the ghost of a kiss on his lips. Was he imagining things, or had it been so rough that he could still feel the places Alex’s hands were? Would there be bruises tomorrow? He felt dirty, like he needed to shower the fingerprints off.

“Come on,” Angelica guided him, like herding sheep, and he walked submissively behind her, mind racing. She led him to her car, new and sleek and shiny. It was well known that the Schuyler's had money, but Aaron didn't realize how much. People in New York didn't generally have cars, at least not anyone Burr knew. They were a hassle, and there was the subway. And when they did have cars, they didn't have fancy jet black ones, with tinted windows and leather seats.

“Woah,” he said, upon getting in. The controls on the dash looked foreign. He couldn't even find the radio dial.

“I know. Excessive, isn't it?” She put it in drive and Burr let the feeling of motion lull him. Lights flashed by them, blurred to Aaron's drunk vision. The city didn't sleep, cars jetted by, horns honked, people shouted on the streets. Awake and alive, the people of New York. Burr felt very separate from it all. Like  
he was looking out at the world from the inside of a snow globe. Watching, but never participating.

“You’re down this way, right?” Angelica asked, her eyes not straying from the road.

“Yeah.” It was faster by car than the subway, and more scenic. Maybe someday Burr would buy one. He still had the money his parents left him. He could imagine himself with a car. Nothing fancy, just practical, something that could get him from place to place. He could see himself on open roads, outside the city, somewhere, just driving, and not looking back. Maybe he'd visit the mountains, or find himself surrounded by rolling hills and grassland. The air would be fresher there. The sky would be clear, and full of stars.

Reality swooped in, and it had talons. He ran tired hands over his buzzed hair.

“Take a left here,” he told Angelica, and he didn't like how his voice sounded. Wobbly, scared. She made the turn, then spared him a glance, and there was pity in her eyes.

“I think you should stay away from him for a while,” she said, “Give yourself some space. This week, just leave him be. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.” It wouldn't be hard. He had the whole week off, during which he wouldn't be seeing Alex at all. All he'd have to do is stop texting him, and he could manage that. Probably.

“I know it feels like you love him, or whatever,” she continued, and Burr looked up in alarm. “Don't give me that look, it's obvious. You follow him around like a lost puppy. But you don't need him.”

“It's this one,” Burr gestured to his building. She parked outside the entrance, on the curb.

“Take care of yourself, Aaron.”

“Merry Christmas.” Burr could feel her eyes on him as he got out of the car and walked away. Gravel crunched under his feet on the way to the building, and she didn't drive away until he was inside.

As soon as he got to his apartment he crashed on the couch, falling asleep before his head could hit the cushion. The last thought he had was of what Angelica told him to do. Stay away from Alex, clear his head. He decided that he wanted to do it as his eyes blinked shut. He could do that.

Or, he thought he could, until 9:00 the next morning, when there was a pounding on his door.

“Yo, it's Alex,” the voice behind the door said, “Let me in.” Burr, whose face was buried in a couch cushion, groaned.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled to himself. This was a dream, this was a nightmare, he was dead, this was hell. Feet carried him to the doorway without his brain telling them to.

“Are you alive in there?” Alex called. Burr squinted through his peephole to get a look at what he was about to face. And what he saw was Alex, looking small and stranded in the hallway, his hair wild and his eyes tired, engulfed in a large parka, with boxes in his arms, standing beside a tree. A tree?

“What the fuck,” he repeated, and out of shock, or curiosity, opened the door.

“Merry Christmas, holiday hater!” Alex exclaimed jovially, striding past Burr to set his boxes on the coffee table. Then he turned around, past a dumbfounded Burr who was standing stupidly with the door open, and picked up his tree. It was a tricky maneuver, and Alex looked ridiculous trying wrap his arms around the thing in a way that wouldn't scratch him. The tree was potted, and he ended up carrying it by hugging the pot to his chest and walking top heavy into Burr’s apartment. He had to limbo to get it through the doorway, and almost toppled over backward from the weight of it. He swayed back and forth, unbalanced, as he walked over to the middle of Burr’s living room, and set down the tree with a satisfying plop. Aaron could feel a headache coming on.

“You may be wondering why I've shown up to your humble abode with a tree,” Hamilton said conversationally, wiping his hands of dirt.

“Yeah, it crossed my mind.” Burr shut the door in defeat. So much for staying away.

“Well, let me tell you. I was walking in the park this morning, clearing my head of a few things, and I thought about you, and how much you hate Christmas,” Alex was pacing the floor like he owned it, telling his story the way he spoke in court; arrogant, manic, and with tedious detail. “There we’re Santa’s all around me, spreading the joy, it just baffles me that someone doesn’t enjoy that.”

“On the contrary,” Burr said, words dripping with sarcasm. “Santa is the only part of Christmas I do like. Fat old white guys with big beards turn me on on a good day. Add a red jumpsuit? I'm fucked.” Hamilton snorted.

“That's irrelevant to the situation at hand. Now, Christmas is a great American holiday, Burr. You were raised on Christian faith, you have enough money for presents, you have no reason whatsoever to hate it. Personally, I love Christmas, I think it's fantastic, I love everything about it. So my thinking was that I, patron saint of holiday spirit, should come by and _make_ you like it. Pretty smart, right?”

“Sure,” Burr replied, moving to make himself a cup of coffee. He wouldn't survive this encounter without caffeine. “Whatever. How does that explain the tree?”

“Oh right, the tree!” Alex exclaimed. He was overtired, his eyes looked sunken and glossy. It was only 9:00, how early must he have gotten up to construct this plan? “The tree is the best part! That's your Christmas tree! We’re gonna decorate, get you in the mood!”

“That's not a Christmas tree.” Burr was torn between anger and amusement.

“What?”

“The tree, that tree, it isn't an evergreen, it's a- I don't even know what it is. An elm? Birch?” Burr knew nothing about trees. It was tall and twiggy and leafless, stuck in a big, dirty pot. A pathetic looking thing.

“Okay, yeah,” Alex said, running a hand through his hair. “It's not the right kind of tree, but it's impossible to find a good one this close to Christmas, so I went a less traditional route. Plus it's potted, so it won't die on you, you can keep it forever!”

“No, I can't keep it forever, Alex, it's going to grow, it'll get huge! I can't just keep a tree in my apartment!” He was more angry than amused now.

“See!” Alex pointed a finger at him. “Now, where's your Christmas spirit? Help me with these boxes, let's start decorating.”

“Alex!” Burr growled, but didn't know where to go from there. He was torn between wanting to talk about what happened, and his age old inability to address problems. After a moment of pause, he gave in, grabbed his coffee that had been brewed to perfection with his fancy machine, and went to help with boxes.

There were four boxes, and after inspection it seemed they were all filled with endless amounts of Christmassy bullshit. Not just for decorating the tree, oh no. Of course there were lights, and tinsel, and ornaments. But there were also snowflake place mats, reindeer seat covers, light up, dancing snowmen, a welcome mat that read “Home for the Holidays”, a giant Santa Claus cookie jar, various ugly sweaters, and Burr counted _four_ holiday wreaths.

By the time it was all unloaded, and strewn about the room disorderly, the whole apartment looked like Christmas throw up.

“Where did you get all of this shit?” Burr asked, holding up a pair of mistletoe oven mitts. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, like a kid opening presents, while Hamilton walked about, organizing everything into piles.

“Here and there. Most of it was my mom’s, she was a huge knick knack collector. Over the years I've picked quite a few things up, it all goes on sale as soon as Christmas is over.” Burr watched him search the mess, sorting the things he grabbed into three separate sections.

“You aren't giving it all to me, are you?” Alex smiled.

“No, no, I couldn't give it all away. That's what the piles are for, we got one for all the decorations, one for stuff you can have if you want, and one for stuff I can't let myself get rid of.”

“Fair enough.” Burr tried to avoid the other man’s eyes as he stood up. There was a palpable tension between them, it was tying knots in his stomach.

In his head, Burr was screaming at himself to tell Alex to leave. There was too much shit that was being left unsaid. However much Burr hated conflict, he hated the elephant in the room even more.

“Okay, so that's sorted,” Alex said, clapping his hands together. “Let's get going on this tree. Grab the tinsel.” Burr obliged. Awkwardly trying to keep his distance, he positioned himself on the other side of the tree while decorating.

It was a painfully slow process, picking an ornament, placing it delicately on the tree’s branches. Since it wasn't an evergreen, they didn't hang like they were supposed to, and instead weighed down the branches, sometimes falling right off them. So they had to be careful as to which ornament to pick. Nothing breakable.

“I like this one,” Burr said, maybe to break the ice, maybe because it really was cute. It was a homemade ornament, a picture of Alex as a child, with a border of colourful Popsicle sticks, hung by a piece of string. “How old were you in this?”

Alex, who was hanging candy canes on the tree, went over to take a look. He leaned over Burr’s shoulder to get a glimpse, and laughed.

“Yeah, that. I must have been seven or eight. We made them in school, I wanted to give it to my mom as a present, except I hated getting my picture taken,” Burr had trouble believing that. “I cried for like twenty minutes beforehand, I hated it so much. See how red my eyes are? I just wanted to make a good gift,” He took the gift from Aaron’s hands, and just looked at it for a moment. “Yeah,” he said after a while. “This one should go on.”

They finished the tree, and stood back by the pile of decorations to admire it. It still looked ridiculous and ugly in Burr’s eyes, but Alex beamed at it.

“Just one more thing,” he said, and Burr groaned. “The star,” From the pile he picked out six different stars, and held them up for Burr to see. “Which one?”

Burr, who at this point was feeling slightly hungover and overwhelmingly stressed, shook his head.

“I don't care,” he said. “Pick one.”

“Well, Burr, it’s your tree, I can't do everything, you pick.” He stepped closer, holding the stars in front of him.

“How is a star even supposed to go on it if it's not the right kind of tree?” Burr tried to stay calm, but couldn't remember why he had to.

“I'm trying to do something nice, here, Aaron,” Alex said, teeth clenched. “Can you stop acting childish and pick a fucking star? Come on, pick one. This is about Christmas spirit, this is about me apologizing-”

“Apologizing?” Burr yelped. They were in each other's faces, now. “In what world does giving someone a fucking tree constitute an apology?” Alex hurled the stars to the ground. They hit the floor with an overwhelming crash, and even Alex jumped at the noise of it.

“Holy shit, Burr, you drive me fucking crazy,” Alex growled, and they both watched the stars as the spun and clattered and eventually fell flat. A long silence followed. “I don't know how to please you, I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Nothing I do seems to satisfy you.” Burr’s heart was rocketing out of his chest and flying up his throat.

“The only thing you've done is botch my case, kiss me while you're dating someone, and bring a tree to my house, forgive me if I'm ungrateful!” Tears were forcing themselves at the edges of his eyes. Why was he an angry crier? He blinked them away.

“I want to invite you to a Christmas dinner,” Alex said.

“What?” Burr was taken aback. These days he felt constantly taken aback.

“Christmas dinner,” he repeated, almost nervous now, wringing his hands together anxiously. “I host one every year, it's for people who have nothing else to do on Christmas. I figured since you're a holiday hating orphan you might not have other plans. Laurens always comes because he hates his family, and I invited Jefferson and Jemmy because their both from Virginia and don't have any plans. What do you say?”

It would have taken Burr a whole day to come up with a decent reaction to that invitation. His mouth hung open in disbelief. He said the only thing his mind could produce.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“Are you,” again, Aaron struggled for words. “Is it- Are you seriously that ignorant of social boundaries?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hamilton, Jefferson hates you!” Burr tried not to scream.

“He-” Alex started, but Burr wasn't done.

“You broke his nose, of course he hates you! And Madison hates you out of love for his boyfriend, dammit, even I hate you!” Alex gaped.

“You hate me?” He asked, dumbfounded.

“For fuck sakes, Alex!” How was he not getting this? “I can't- We shouldn't- Did you even tell Eliza?” Any tension that had been building up evaporated. This was the elephant in the room, this was they had been tiptoeing around all morning. After so much yelling, the silence that followed felt out of place. Alex scanned him for the right reply, and Burr stood, seething.

Finally, Hamilton replied, in little more than a whisper.

“No.” And Burr wasn't surprised.

“Are you going to?” They were both speaking so quietly now. All the fight gone from both of them. This wasn't two enemies in battle. This was two people owning up to a mistake.

“I don't want to break her heart,” Alex said. Burr could sympathize with that. He didn't want to, but he could.

“I'm not going to force you to tell her,” Burr told him. In fact, in might work better in Burr’s favour if he didn't. Surely, Angelica would hate him if she heard about what had conspired. And he didn't want his only friend that wasn't Alex turning against him. “But you need to know that it's never happening again.” The expression on Alex’s face was unreadable.

“I understand.”

“If you want to cheat on your girlfriend, be my guest, I don't want to have any part in it. I won't be some warm body, for you or for anyone.” He was using his lawyer voice, setting down the facts clearly and logically in front of him, removing himself from any emotion behind them. Alex seemed lost in thought.

“Do you really hate me?” He asked. He seemed small, if Burr didn't know better he would have said there was a wobble in his voice.

“I don't know,” Burr said, shrugging his shoulders, tiredly. “You make everything so fucking difficult, Hamilton. Even hating you.”

Alex seemed to take that in stride. He began to tidy up his things as he spoke again.

“You should come for dinner, Burr. I promise, it's gonna be a normal night, no kissing, no fights, just a nice evening with some of my best enemies,” Burr snorted. “You're going to come, aren't you? Say you'll come.” He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.

“Fine.” Alex cheered. He was throwing everything back into their boxes.

“Awesome! Okay, I'll tell everyone you're going to be there so you can't back out!” He was back to himself now, walking around frantically, talking at a mile a minute. “You're amazing, Aaron, you're incredible, thank you so much. I better be off, I've got an article to write and some presents to buy and some shit to do, God I love Christmas,” he was chucking things wildly into their boxes. “Okay, so it's 5:00, my place, on Christmas Day, don't be late or the food will be gone. I hope you like turkey, but if you don't, there's also ham. And I told Laurens it was a bring your own booze situation, but it really isn't, I just didn't want to have a hand in his alcoholism,” all his things were packed, and he picked it all up, and stood with his hand on the doorknob. “Have a good day, Burr. You're welcome for the tree!”

With that, he was gone, and Aaron was left in a whirlwind of confusion. Why did it always feel Alex had the upper hand in every conversation? Why was he always leaving with a smile on his face, and leaving Burr in utter shock.

For a while after Alex left, Burr didn't know what to do with himself. It was like he was lost without him. He found himself staring at the tree in his living room. A little smile grew on his face. It was ugly and odd and so very _Hamilton_.

Six stars still sat forgotten on the floor. Aaron bent down to look at them, studying each of them individually, turning them over in his hands. He picked one out; a plain, gold one, old looking, with a dent in its center from where it hit the ground. He had to stand on a chair to set it on the top branch, and it tilted awkwardly to the left no matter what he did. But when he took a step back to look up at the creation, it was a strange and beautiful masterpiece. He felt strangely proud.

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of the moment. Fumbling to find the right pocket, he checked it.

From: Angelica S.  
11:04 AM

_How's your first Ham-free day going? :) Hope you aren't too hungover!_

Burr groaned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea in my head of Alex carrying a tree, and I couldn't shake it. What a beautiful idiot, I love him so much. Like imagine him nearly tipping over backwards because his center of gravity is off. My sweet child. 
> 
> Also, apparently everyone in colonial America would throw house parties and just? Invite everyone they hated??? So that's kinda what Alex is doing


	12. Chapter 12

Aaron Burr woke up on Christmas morning with no gifts under his makeshift tree, but five texts.

From: A. Ham ;)  
5:05 AM

_Merry Christmas buddy old pal, don't forget to be at my place in… twelve hours. I didn't realize how early it is right now, oops. You probably won't be awake for hours, but oh well. Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!_

From: A. Ham ;)  
6:43 AM

_You're killin me here. How much sleep does a person possibly need?! WAKE UP FUCKER ITS CHRISTMAS_

From: Angelica S.  
8:19 AM

_Merry Christmas, Aaron! Hope you have a great day!_

From: A. Ham ;)  
8:50 AM

_I've officially started cooking our feast, and you still aren't awake. I'm starting to worry that you've slipped into a coma. Should I come by and check on you?? No, I've got shit on the stove. Unrelated, but do you like cranberries? Because I don't, and I don't want to make them if no one likes them. Please text me back. If you aren't up in an hour I'm filing a missing persons report, because you've probably been kidnapped._

Burr rolled his eyes at Alex’s concern. The man had never gotten up past 6:00 in his entire life, he didn't know what it was like to have a normal sleeping pattern. He was about to reply back with something along the lines of “Don't call the cops”, when he saw who the last message was from, and his stomach coiled into knots.

From: Theo  
8:56 AM

_Hi, Aaron, I hope you're having a good Christmas. I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I also know how much you hate this holiday, and I just wanted to check in. We should catch up sometime, go for coffees or something. It'd be nice to see you again._

Oh god. Oh god. He dropped the phone on his bed like it was burning hot, and began to pace his room, in a fit of nerves. Why would she text him? Why would she want to see him? Didn't she know that she was making everything worse? The less she talked to him, the less he had to think about her.

He was overreacting, of course, stalking around his room, circling his phone, and muttering to himself. The last time Theodosia got in touch with him was his birthday, for a quick message. An easy, dead end conversation. They were in a place where they could be casual with each other, it had been two years, after all. Today, she was asking to meet with him. Burr’s heart squeezed at the thought.

Remembering the last time he saw her hurt, but he did it all the same. It had been over coffee as well, a quaint cafe, summer heat shining through open windows. There had been tears in both of their eyes. A shoebox of his things sat between them. A Yankees ball cap, a pair of sunglasses, an old chemistry textbook. He'd told her to keep it all, to burn it, he had no use for souvenirs. But he took the box all the same, and even today, it sat in the corner of his room, untouched. That part of his life collected dust.

Too long he stared at his phone, rereading the text. He didn't know how to feel. Did he want to see her? He knew she was happy now, with a fiancé and a new house. Burr creeped on Facebook as much as the next guy. But, he wasn't one to contact people directly, and the message took him by surprise. It took him a long time to think up a response.

To: Theo  
9:43 AM

_Merry Christmas, Theo, I hope you're well. We should certainly get together sometime and catch up, coffee would be nice! How about Thursday?_

He didn't know if accepting her invitation was the greatest response, but he assumed that she was only asking to meet up as a show of good faith. To purposely avoid her would be rude. Instead, he would wait until she arranged a date, hopeful that she would flake out. He was running it all over in his head, when his phone buzzed again.

He was relieved at the name that popped up.

From: A. Ham ;)

9:45 AM

_Okay, you know your read receipts are on, right? I know you're ignoring me on purpose, and I'm bout to come after you with a whisk_

Burr smiled as he replied. Alex was incompetent in the kitchen, it was one of the only things that Aaron was better than him at. Probably because Alex was always forgetting to eat, and when he did remember, it was all take out and instant noodles.

To: A. Ham ;)  
9:45 AM

_You should be concentrating less on me ignoring you, and more on your cooking. What's a read receipt, and how do I turn it off?_

They continued to talk, light, easy conversations, all day. It was nice, and kept Burr distracted from his hate for the day, and the looming weight of Theodosia’s message. He wasted away the day in his pajamas, reading a book on the couch, napping on and off. No stores were open during Christmas, so walking idly around the city would feel silly. Most of the day was spent twiddling his thumbs, getting ready far too early, and counting down until he could leave for Alex’s place. So when the man asked him to come early and help cook, he was in no mind to refuse.

He showed up at Alex’s doorstep with a wine bottle in hand, wearing a tailored coat, trying to act nonchalant. His cheeks were red from the outside breeze. Just as he was holding up a fist to knock on the door, it swung open, and there stood Alex, his hair wild, his hands clad in oven mitts. When he smiled, any winter chill in Burr’s bones melted away.

“Wine,” he said, stiffly holding it up for him to see.

“Do you always bring wine when you go to people’s houses?” Alex asked, leaving the door frame, and allowing Burr to follow after. “Like, is that a thing that rich polite people do?”

He was led down the narrow hallway of the apartment that opened up to a wide, open room that homed both the kitchen, living room, and dining room. Everything in the house was cramped, and everything was multipurpose. The dining table doubled as a chopping station, a laptop sat running on the stovetop, next to a bubbling pot. Fridge magnets held up drafts of Hamilton's writings, and a red pen hung from a string on the handle. Aaron couldn't tell for sure, but he would guess the couch was a futon.

“Is the turkey cooking?” Burr asked, peeling off his coat and setting it on the back of a chair (the chairs all doubled as coat racks). Hamilton was still studying the wine.

“Hmm? Yeah, turkey’s cooking, everything’s cooking, it's all under control,” he turned the bottle in his hands. “You even drink wine?”

“Not really, no.” Alex eyed him.

“You're an odd one, Burr. Here,” he set the bottle down and rummaged through some drawers and pulled out a masher. “Can you deal with the potatoes?”

“Sure.” Mashing something into a pulp was exactly what he needed. He walked over to the stove, which was covered in pans and laptops and papers that were probably a fire hazard. As he rolled up his sleeves to get started, he noticed a phone that wasn't Hamilton’s, charging on the counter.

“Is someone else here?” Burr asked, nodding toward the phone.

“No, that's John’s. We live together, didn't you know that?” He hadn't, but he should have realized. The two were peas in a pod, inseparable, with the strangest relationship Burr had ever seen. He started mashing the potatoes.

“Ah. Is he here?” Alex was moving behind Burr, checking the turkey, maneuvering around his torso to get a better look.

“Nah,” Alex said, straightening up, and slinking an arm past Burr’s to check on the stuffing. It was a small kitchen. Their elbows bumped, and legs brushed. “He’s out, at the bar or with Laf or something.”

Alex, who usually could go on for hours on that sort of topic, left it at that. Burr sensed tension at the mention of Laurens, and tried to keep the conversation light.

“Is Laf coming tonight?” The Frenchman was a good laugh, and one of the only people around who didn't want kill Alex, or fuck him, or both. It would be good to have him around in case things got out of hand.

“I doubt it,” Alex replied, cleaning up the various cooking utensils and ingredients off the dinner table. “I invited him, but he’s got friends and family all over the place, the man is always busy. It's because everyone loves him, he's the life of every party.”

Alex was in Burr’s space again, right behind him, reaching up to a cupboard above the stove to put things away. Was it an accident that his chest pressed up against Burrs? The closeness made his head spin, he could feel the other man’s breath on the back of his neck, and tried not to shiver.

“I think it's the accent,” Alex carried on. He never knew when to shut up. He stepped away from Burr, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the table. “Everyone's a freak for the French accent. He plays it up, you know, rolls his R’s, purposely forgets English words to make himself look cute. I envy the bastard. He did ask if you were coming tonight, though.”

“He did?” Burr asked. The potatoes were mashed to smitherenes.

“Yeah,” Hamilton had wiped off the table, and now was grabbing his laptop, plopping into a seat with his eyes glued to the screen. “Either because he likes you, or he wants to place a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Yeah,” Alex didn't look up from his work. “Shit, did you not know that? Everyone at the firm, and now Laf and the guys too, they like to bet on whether you're going to show up to whatever we invite you to. Apparently you're antisocial tendencies have made Jefferson quite a bit of cash.” Burr was incredulous. He set the masher down and crossed his arms.

“What? You people bet on if I'm going to hang out with you? That's terrible!”

“For the record, I never bet against you. I'm always crossing my fingers you’ll come out with me. Plus, it's nothing personal, we also bet on how many times Thomas will wear purple in a week, and how many sick days Mads will take this year. If Washington calls me ‘son’ one more time Angelica owes me twenty bucks.”

“Hmm,” Burr didn't think that his coworkers cared whether or not he came to their little hangouts, let alone kept tabs on it. He smiled when he remembered something he heard talked about around the office. “I hope you also know there’s a pool on how many times you call Washington ‘daddy’.”

Alex perked up, a blush beginning to spread on his neck. Aaron chuckled in surprise at the reaction.

“Oh my god,” he laughed. “Please tell me that you don't actually have a weird daddy kink fantasy about our boss.” Alex turned away from his computer to give Burr a shrug.

“Seriously?” Burr exclaimed. “George Washington gets you hot under the collar?”

“Well, yeah, he's hot, he’s powerful, he's daddy material,” Alex said, much more open then Burr was expecting. “Come on, Burr. You can't tell me you don't have sex fantasies about people at work.” Why did Alex always know how to make him uncomfortable?

“That isn't- you know I-” he stammered. “Why would you even ask that?” Alex shrugged once again.

“You're the one who brought it up, Burr,” he said, nonchalantly. “I didn't know sex made you so upset.” Heat was rising in Burr’s face.

“Sex doesn't make me upset,” he said, “Talking about sex, inappropriately, with my work colleague makes me upset.”

“Work colleague?” Alex asked, smirking. He was standing now, shutting his laptop. “Is that all I am to you?”

“You're a pain in my ass, that's what you are.”

“I can live with that,” Alex said. “Now, help me set the table, our guests should be arriving soon.” Burr grunted in agreement.

He walked to the cupboard where the utensils were stored, and peered inside to find a mess of unmatched silverware, from fancy steak knives, to sporks, to crazy straws.

“Big spoons or little spoons?” Burr asked, regretting it as soon as the words left his lips.

“Little spoon, of course, Burr, I thought you knew me better,” he was grinning wolfishly, dancing around the table, dropping off plates at every seat. “That way you can play with my hair, and if move my butt a little I can feel you-”

“Christ, Hamilton!” Burr interjected, trying to stay stern, and ignore the redness in his cheeks. “You can't say that kind of shit to me!” Alex looked genuinely taken aback.

“Did I cross a line?” He asked, innocently, his eyes wide and searching.

“Yes. You're miles past the line.” They finished setting the table in relative silence, but for the accidental scrape of cutlery. Burr had went with the big spoons. At the last seat, as Alex was folding napkins, their hands brushed. Alex looked up at Burr, hair in his face. He opened his mouth to speak-

“Yo, yo, yo!” The front door slammed open, and John Laurens strutted, slightly tipsy, into sight. “Smells fucking great in here, Alex, good j-” he froze momentarily when he saw Burr, and Burr found himself stepping quickly away from Alex, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. “If it isn't the life of the party himself, Aaron Burr, good to see you.”

He made Burr uncomfortable almost immeadiately, stumbling up to him and giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder. He didn't take his hand away, and instead sunk his nails into Burr’s shirt, either in anger, or in an attempt to keep himself upright. He reeked of liquor. Alex stood across from them, looking almost shamefully at his friend.

“Go get cleaned up, Laurens,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’re having company over.”

“That why there's food?” Laurens inquired, swaying slightly. “That why it's so clean? You should see, Burr, what it's usually like in here. He,” he stuck a finger out at Alex, “doesn't cook, doesn't clean, doesn't sleep, doesn't do shit.” Suddenly the weight disappeared from Burr’s shoulder, and Laurens was lumbering over to the counter, snatching up the bottle of wine.

“That's because I'm not your mother, Laurens. Now, will you please clean yourself up, you look like shit.”

“Fuck you,” Laurens spat at him. “I'm not cleaning shit. I'm just gon’ talk to my friend Aaron, over here on the couch. C’mon, Burr.”

With his wine-free hand, Laurens grabbed Aaron's arm and pulled him over to the couch, where he flopped, gracelessly. Burr sat beside him, stiffly, and let Laurens drape himself over Burr, shifting restlessly until he ended up splayed out across his lap, staring up at Aaron. Alex watched the whole exchange with an unreadable expression.

“You don't have to sit with him, Aaron,” Alex said, more like a plead than a suggestion. “It's okay-”

“Hello?” A voice called from down the hallway. “Is this the right place?” Jefferson. “Most people don't just leave their doors hanging open, unless it's a crack den…” Alex was visibly torn between the newest arrivals, and Laurens, as his eyes flashing back and forth between the couch an the hallway.

“Deal with them,” Burr prodded, meeting Alex’s eyes and trying to communicate a sense of calm. “I can handle Laurens.” Alex held his gaze a second too long, then nodded, and marched off to deal with the guests.

Burr watched him leave, and strained to hear the conversation in the other room, until he was interrupted by Laurens’ finger poking his face.

“Why you here, Burr,” Laurens slurred. Another poke. “Get outta here.”

“You told me to sit here,” Burr replied steadily. As Laurens’ hand came up for another poke, Burr grabbed the man's wrist, and yanked him into a sitting position. “Now stop poking me. Sit properly.” The last time they'd spoken, Laurens had tried to impart some wisdom onto Burr. He'd told him to stay away from Alex. That idea seemed so impossible now, no matter how much Alex got on his nerves. At least Alex wasn't truly a bad person. Burr couldn't say the same for Laurens.

“Well,” Jefferson’s voice sounded, as he led the way into the room, wearing, wouldn't you know it, a suit with a purple tie. He looked around, head held high in the air. “Thank you for inviting us into your humble abode. Emphasis on humble.”

Madison followed closely behind him, with Alex taking up the rear, worry in his eyes, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Ah, and Burr’s here!” Thomas exclaimed, walking over to the couch to shake his hand. Aaron stood at the gesture, and took the offered hand. “You left so early at the staff party, I don't know if I even had the chance to wish you a merry Christmas. So, merry Christmas!” There was something implied there, so Burr forced a smile.

“Well, you were too drunk to remember, regardless. Merry Christmas.” From the couch, Laurens moaned, and stood up.

“Open the wine, Burr,” he whined, holding the bottle out for him. “For the love of God, open the wine.”

“Ah, Mr. Laurens,” Jefferson said, smiling tightly. “So good to see you again.”

“Charmed, I'm sure,” Laurens mocked, leaning forward into an exaggerated bow. Straightening up, he ignored Jefferson completely, and shouted, “The fucking wine, please, someone!” Then he tripped his way over to the kitchen.

Both Madision and Jefferson watched him leave with outward looks of disgust. Alex, who at this point seemed very on edge, clapped his hands to take attention away from the drunk man.

“Okay,” he said, “I'll just carve the turkey, and we can eat!” He scuttled off the to kitchen, probably both to carve the turkey and stop Laurens from killing himself with the corkscrew.

With Alex gone, Jefferson made a point of examining the room, seemingly unimpressed but what he saw. Madison snaked an arm around his boyfriend’s waist, whispering something to him. They both snickered at the secret joke. The couple was well dressed, and so pretentiously good looking that it stuck out like a sore thumb. Like a couple of rich kids who got lost in the wrong side of town.

Burr said nothing, and did nothing, as Alex and Laurens returned, with tall wine glasses in each of their hands. But Alex looked at him, and reassured, “Don't worry. I've got a rum and Coke for you,” when the others have him a look, Alex elaborated. “He brought the wine, but he doesn't drink it.”

“Thank God for the wine!” Laurens cried. His mouth was already dyed red.

“It is a very nice red,” Madison offered, swirling it in the glass. Of course Madison knew wine. Madison probably went to wine tastings all over the country. He probably had a wine cellar in his own house, hell, he probably had his own brand of wine. That was just the kind of elegant prick that Jemmy was.

“Yes, where'd you pick this up, Burr?” Jefferson asked.

“The liquor store,” Aaron deadpanned.

“Why don't we all sit down?” Alex said, gesturing to the table, which he'd finished setting by adding an arrangement of candles as a centrepiece.

“Sure,” Aaron nodded, and pulled Laurens by his shirt sleeve, guiding him into his chair, and sitting down next to him. The others followed, sitting across from Burr and Laurens, as Alex quickly grabbed Aaron a drink from the counter, and sat at the head of the table.

Aaron watched closely as Alex took his seat, brushed a stray piece of hair away from his face, laid out his napkin over his lap. He seemed tense; tightly coiled with anxious energy. His eyes were darting around the room, searching. After a quiet moment, he cleared his throat, raised his glass.

“Merry Christmas, everybody. To good food, and a happy new year!” They toasted. Burr was the odd one out, with his rum, but didn't regret the decision upon tasting it. Alex mixed a good drink. There was even a little lime wedge biting into the glass. Overkill, but Burr appreciated the effort. The others sipped at their wine, but for Laurens, who downed his glass in one go.

“Alex!” Laurens barked, as the food was being passed around. A brilliant assortment of turkey, potatoes, homemade stuffing, peas and carrots, and various colourful salads. Burr couldn't help but be impressed by the meal, and the time it must have taken to cook up. And there was Laurens, ruining it. “Introduce me,” he motioned to Jefferson and James.

“Oh right,” Alex said, ignoring how clearly trashed he was. “You haven't officially met! Right, well, Laurens, this is Thomas Jefferson, he's an excellent lawyer, and his boyfriend, James Madison, the firm’s accountant. They're both from Virginia. And guys, this is John Laurens. We’ve been friends since middle school, grew up in the same neighbourhood. John works at the bar downtown.”

Jefferson patiently waited for the end of the introduction, then smiled thinly.

“Yes, I remember. I kicked you in the kneecaps.” Alex paled. Of course, they'd already met, they'd met outside the bar, trying to kill each other with their right hooks.

“Ah,” Laurens said, recognition sparking in his eyes. “You're that fucker. Wanna go now? Wanna fuckin try me?” Jefferson haughtily loaded his plate with potatoes.

“I could try you, you wasted piece of shit, but you're far too drunk for it too be a fair fight.”

“Thomas, please,” Madison mumbled to him, grabbing his hand in a soothing gesture. “Not now, eat your food.”

“Don't talk about John that way, Thomas,” Alex piped up, seemingly unable to shy away from the opportunity to raise his voice. “Unless you've forgotten about how you're nose broke in the first place.”

“I could never forget,” Jefferson said, grinning, eyes glued to Alex. “Not the nose, or Laurens going blue as Lee choked him, or the feeling of your ribs jostling as I kicked you over, and over, and-”

“Enough, Thomas.” Madison’s voice was quiet, but strong, and Jefferson immeadiately faltered.

All plates were full, and with an awkward, deliberate slowness, they all began to eat. Everything was silent, but for the scraping of knives, and Madison’s occasional cough. Burr found himself glancing at Alex, checking to see how he was reacting. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his mouth was clenched shut. Clearly, dinner wasn't supposed to go this way. Alex had been hoping for some Christmas miracle, that turned enemies to friends, and drunks to conversationalists. Burr pitied him for being so naive.

“So,” Burr started, figuring some small talk wouldn't hurt. “How has everyone's break been so far? I'm sure it's hard for you two, having your family so far away.” Madison glanced up, relieved for the break from silence.

“Yeah, it's been pretty quiet,” he admitted, softly patting his boyfriends hand. “We’ve mostly just kept to ourselves, we did go out to the Rockefeller for a skate,” he laughed, “I haven't gone and years, so he was pretty embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Burr smiled and nodded, barely listening. He could keep dinner conversations in his sleep. Nobody else was listening either, it seemed, and the tension in the room seemed to be building up, everyone eying each other angrily, as Laurens reached for the wine.

“You don't need more to drink,” Alex warned him as his hand closed around the bottle. He looked exasperated. “Eat something instead, look, your plate is empty.”

“Jus’ the wine,” Laurens slurred, unsteadily pouring himself a large glass. “Not hungry.”

“He's probably all coked up,” Jefferson sneered. “I wouldn't be hungry either.” Burr glanced at Laurens, wondering if that could be true. His pupils were certainly dilated, but that could be from anything. Laurens just laughed at the suggestion.

“Fuck off, Jefferson,” Alex said, and turned to Burr. “Can you get him some food?” he asked, nodding at the empty plate.

Burr obliged, happy to have something to do. He shifted in his seat, grabbing the pot of peas and carrots that sat in front of him, and dishing them onto Laurens’ plate. Meanwhile, Jefferson had leaned over, picking something up from the ground, and holding it up to be seen.

“What's this?” He mocked. It was a piece of paper, covered in Alex’s scribbled notes. “Some of Alexander Hamilton's renowned writings?”

“Have you read some of my stuff?” Alex asked, almost innocently. Jefferson sneered.

“A few articles,” he said, “when I need a laugh.” Immeadiately, Alex hardened. His eyes narrowed. Burr kept his head down, scooping potatoes generously for Laurens.

“You don't like my articles?”

“Honestly?” Jefferson asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think they're the ramblings of a blind liberal do-gooder who knows that world has problems, but has no hot clue how to solve any of them.”

“I know how to solve problems,” Alex spat back. Getting worked up, too damn worked up. Burr could see that Jefferson was just trying to get under his skin, and Alex was letting him. If anyone got hit this time, someone would be fired. “We stop letting asshole one percenters like yourself get away with fucking everything, and put the money you’ll never spend toward things that actually need it." 

“That's your answer to everything, isn't it? Tax the rich? You do realize that would just cause the entire system to crumble, right? When the company owners, and the businessmen of the world get all their hard earned money stolen from them, they stop running things, they stop providing jobs for the food stamp immigrants like yourself.”

Smiling like he'd just won something, Jefferson leaned back in his chair. Alex was seething. Burr sat awkwardly, needing to get some turkey from across the table, but not wanting to call attention to himself. Laurens was moaning incoherently. 

“That's absolutely fucking absurd,” Alex started. He was clutching his fork and knife with white knuckles. “The amount of money that would be taken from you wouldn't even make a dent in the huge pile of it that you're just sitting on! You don't need that much fucking money, Jefferson. You couldn't spend it all if you tried! Taxing you is the only way that money spreads and helps our country's economy, otherwise it would just-”

“Could you pass the turkey?” Burr asked, quietly. Mostly to Madison, who was watching the whole exchange with a look of disinterest, a little red in the face. Either he didn't hear him, or just ignored it.

“I've earned everything I've gotten,” Jefferson was saying, dropping his boyfriend’s hand to cross his arms over his chest. “It's my money, and it deserves to stay mine. What would America be if we couldn't spend our money how we liked? Why is it on me to give handouts to the people in the world to lazy to get a job?”

“Please, could you pass the turkey?” Burr repeated. Too quietly, once again. Or maybe no one was listening.

In a fit of rage, Hamilton stood up, kicking his chair out from under him.

“What have you earned, Jefferson? Remind me! You haven't done anything for yourself in your entire life, you haven't earned a fucking penny!” Giving up on manners, Burr reached across the table for a slice of turkey, trying to avoid the crossfire. This could go on for a while, and Laurens had to eat, he was looking a little pale. Alex still wasn't done. 

“I paid for school through scholarships and the two jobs I worked, and I barely made ends meet, and you, you pompous fucking prick, excelled in school ‘cause it's all you had to worry about, and didn't work a damn day until you got your degree!” Burr felt a strange heat, maybe a fever, that seemed to be spreading. He felt hot. It must have been hot in the room, because Madison, too, had red blotches on his face. “Get off your high fucking horse and realize that everything you think you earned was handed to you on a silver platter. And you have the audacity to call me lazy! You fucking- Fuck. Burr. Burr!”

There was a commotion, a clattering of cutlery, as Jefferson and Madison sprung from their seats, matching looks of horrified astonishment on their faces. Everyone spoke at once, and Burr couldn't place where the voices were coming from. His arm felt hot.

“Holy fuck!”

“Put it out!”

“Aaron, you're on fire!”

And holy shit, he was. Flames licked at the sleeve of his shirt, burning up the cotton, heating his skin. For a second, all he could do was stare. He could feel his skin bubbling up as the fire spread. Sharp pain grew with every passing second, and then he was waving his arm around wildly. Someone was screaming. Was he screaming?

“Jesus, do something!” Someone shouted. Burr stood, almost robotically, frantically flailing his burning arm. There was motion to his right, but Burr wasn't paying attention. All his focus was on the fire, on the rhythmic swinging of his arm. Time stretched and coiled, simultaneously crawling and racing along. And then a hand was clutching his shoulder, and a bottle of red wine was being tipped upside down, dousing his flaming arm, until there were no fire left, but red stained, seered cotton, and plumes of smoke.

And it was over as quickly as it started. The whole thing only took about fifteen seconds. Burr looked over at his saviour, and was unsurprised to see Alex at his side, breathing heavily, and clutching his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Burr sighed.

“Go run your arm under hot water,” Alex ordered, ignoring him. “Or it'll bubble up and scar.” Burr nodded, and was on his way to the kitchen, when Laurens finally caught up to what had just happened.

“Wha’?” He mumbled. “You poured out my wine? What the fuck?” Clearly wasted, and clearly very upset about the wasted wine, Laurens rocketed out of his chair. He took about two steps toward Alex, arms out, trying to lunge for him, until his stomach caught up with him. And then his face paled, and he was vomiting all over his socked feet.

“Oh my god,” Alex sighed. This night was going to ruin him. Burr watched him as he gave Laurens a half hearted pat on the back.

“Jesus Christ,” Jefferson exclaimed in disgust, grabbing Madison and pulling him back away from the mess. Madison allowed himself to be pulled, but he himself was not looking so hot.

Quietly, apparently not to cause more problems, Madison leaned over to whisper something in Jefferson’s ear. Alarmed, Jefferson's head shot up.

“Did you poison my boyfriend, Hamilton?” Alex, who was rubbing Laurens’ shoulders, offering petty encouragements, snapped his head up.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you put sunflower seeds in your salad?” Thomas demanded.

“Uhh.”

“He's allergic, you dipshit!”

Of course. Of course! At this point, Burr wouldn't be surprised if lightening struck down and electricuted them all. He wouldn't be surprised if Jefferson keeled over and died. In fact, it wouldn't be the worst end to the disaster evening. Burr watched the whole thing from the kitchen entrance.

“Go deal with your alcoholic friend,” Thomas advised, with an edge to his voice. “We’ll be leaving now.” If he didn't know better, Burr would have said Alex looked relieved at that.

“Right. Come on, John, let’s get you to bed.” The pain of Burr’s arm finally overcame the entertainment and horror of the scene around him, and he left the action to run it under water.

Rolling up what was left of the sleeve made Burr wince. Some of the shirt had seered itself right into his skin, and he cursed under his breath as he tried to pull it off. Getting a look at the burn made his stomach stir. It was a six inch long, bubbling, pussing, bloody mess.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he turned on the tap, and the water hit the burn. “Oh, fuck.” Cringing, he kept the water on as long as he could stand it. Tears stung his eyes as he pulled his arm away.

For a moment he debated hiding out in the kitchen for a while, at least until the power couple from hell left. But he could hear Madison coughing from the living room, and decided to check if he was alright.

He walked out into the open room, and had to think twice about what he saw. At first, it just looked like Jefferson on his phone, with Madison peering over his shoulder. But closer inspection made Burr’s brow furrow.

“Why do you have Alex’s phone?”

Two pairs of eyes locked with his. Slowly, with a feral grin on his face, Jefferson raised a finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he soothed. “I'm just working on a case, Burr. Keep your voice down.”

“Wha-”

“Shh, shh,” Jefferson smiled, tossing the phone onto the couch, and backing away, Madison at his side. “Let's just keep this between us. Alright?”

Without waiting for a reply, the two disappeared into the hallway and out of sight, as if in a puff of smoke. Burr was left, for what felt like the millionth time that night, astonished.

He didn't even hear Alex come up behind him.

“You don't have to stick around.” A familiar voice sounded behind him. Alex.

He looked tired. There was wine and vomit mingled on his shirt, his hair was in a fuzz from the amount of times his hands had anxiously tangled themselves in it. Eyes, so deep and brown. A comforting sight.

“Can I stay?” Burr asked. He shouldn't have. Angelica told him to stay away, and she was right, it was dangerous to be this close. But his arm hurt, and he was still hungry, and he hated Christmas, and there was Alex, small and vulnerable, looking at him with big, hopeful eyes.

“You want to?” He asked. “Well, then you should stay! I- I want you to stay. We can finish the food, or have a few drinks, or go over some notes I made up on-”

“Or,” Burr cut off, passing behind him to sit on the couch. “We could sit here and watch a movie, and recover from the evening,” Alex met his eyes, uncharacteristicly cautious. Burr added, “You can be the little spoon.” And Alex beamed.

So that's what they did. Alex put the leftover food away, while Aaron picked a movie. Tangled. Disney movies were his guilty pleasure. Alex microwaved popcorn, and brought all of the blankets from his bed onto the couch.

“It's like a sleepover!” He exclaimed, and was so excited about it that Aaron couldn't tell him otherwise. He also decided not to mention that Jefferson had been snooping on his phone. Partly because it would only make Alex upset, partly because Jefferson had told him not to, and he didn't want the man to think less of him. As ridiculous as that was.

It wasn't long before the two of them found themselves curled together, Aaron’s arms wrapped around the smaller man, their legs bent into each other. Alex’s head was on his chest, a position Aaron hated to admit he was growing fond of. Burr’s eyes were just starting to droop shut, when Alex spoke.

“Why don't you like Christmas?” There was a pause, where Burr was looking for the right words, and he added, “You don't have to answer. I just- You aren't one to hate things without a reason. You don't have to tell me.” Burr sighed, moved a hand from Alex’s side to his hair. Moving his fingers through the long locks was calming, for some reason.

“I don't hate it,” he said, barely a whisper. Hardly heard, over the sound of the movie. “It's just never been a big deal for me. It's a family holiday, I never felt very included in any of it,” Aaron couldn't remember the last time he'd been so honest with someone. His breath was shaky, but he continued, words carefully crafted, lawyer like. “You had happy memories with your mom, but I don't really remember my parents, or their Christmas. Makes it all pretty unimportant.”

There was a moment of silence. Then,

“I'm sorry, Aaron. I wish I could say I've made some good memories for you, but the whole night was kind of a disaster.” He huffed a quiet laugh. They were so quiet, so close.

“No,” Burr promised, “it was good. I'll definitely remember tonight. If only because of the scar.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated.

“You don't have to apologize,” Burr whispered. Hand stroking Alex’s hair, and he seemed to leaned into the touch. “None of it was your fault. You did your best, you made a lovely meal. It was everybody else who fucked up.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” he said. The first name, like a strike of lightning. “I’m sorry about everything that’s happened between us. I-” he stopped sharply on the word. “I think you're wonderful.” Burr tried not to concentrate on all the things that could mean. Instead, he rested his chin on the top of Alex’s head. Comfortable, and warm, and quiet.

“I think you're wonderful, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, I just really wanted it to be good. :) 
> 
> Also I've started highkey shipping jeffmads, and I need help


	13. Chapter 13

The first week back to work was pleasantly mundane. The days were long and boring, the Levi Weekes case had become one of gruelling technicalities, the evidence stacked in their favour. On Thursday Aaron had gone to court, so was forced to reschedule with Theodosia, something he wasn't all too sad about. He saw Alex a lot that week, but it was all work related, and passed without incident. A sort of calm before the storm, it turned out.

  
On the weekend most of the firm went out to the bar where Laurens worked. Burr made a brief appearance, but only so Jefferson would lose the bet he had no doubt placed. An uneventful week, but Burr didn't mind. He couldn't remember the last time things had gone so smoothly.

  
The next Monday, Aaron took his usual seat next to Alex on the subway. They didn't say much, a quick hello, but Alex passed him one of his earbuds, letting Burr listen to his music as he tapped away on his laptop. Alex acted nonchalant, like it was nothing, but the gesture didn't go unnoticed by Burr. Though the music was shitty, and it didn't block out the sounds of the train, Burr appreciated the thought. Most days Alex wore big, bulky headphones, and stayed distant the whole ride, bobbing his head to music. Clearly the only reason he'd traded the headphones in for a cheap pair of earbuds was so that Burr could listen too. It was a kind gesture.

  
They got to work and went their separate ways; Burr retreating immediately to his office, Alex traipsing over to the coffee machine, greeting everyone, loud and jovial. Aaron didn't even try to understand his good mood. Instead, he pushed any thoughts of him out of his head, and worked, uninterrupted, until just before lunch.

  
“Hey,” Alex’s voice sounded from the doorway. He was walking inside before Aaron could even react. “How's the arm?” He all but crashed into a chair across from the desk.

  
“It's alright.” It hurt. The blisters were gone, replaced by rough, pink patches of skin that pained him when he twisted his arm a certain way. But he didn't want to seem like a wimp.

  
“Good. So, Eliza and I are going out for lunch, do you wanna come?” He was serious, but Aaron rolled his eyes.

  
“No, thanks,” He said, too sharply, and without looking up from his work.

  
“You always say no. What's the matter, you don't like my girlfriend?”

  
“I like Eliza just fine,” he grumbled. “What I don't like is being your third wheel, especially when…” _We made out, we nearly fucked, I'm crazy about you_. His tongue jumbled up in his mouth, but he found himself again. “It's an uncomfortable situation. One I'd rather avoid.”

  
Alex seemed dejected.

  
“Fine. Some other time, then.” And he was out his chair, and out of sight.

  
Twelve o’clock struck, and most people quickly departed, off to eat at their homes, or the nearest coffee place. No one liked eating at work, especially at this firm. Aaron didn't mind it though, he liked his office, liked the way sitting behind a big desk made his feel. Plus, he had nowhere better to go.

  
Eliza picked Alex up in her blue Mini Cooper, her hair up, sunglasses on, smile on her face. She really was beautiful, Aaron thought as he saw her through the window. No, he did not hate her. Mostly, looking at her, he felt jealousy and pity.

  
Burr watched Alex hop into the passenger's seat, watched them speed away, kicking up snow and dust. It was serenely quiet. He grabbed his salad from the office fridge and sat down at his desk, alone. Or, at least, alone for a moment, because seconds later Maria Reynolds was knocking on the side of the open doorway.

  
“Excuse me, Mr. Burr,” She seemed almost sheepish. Maria never talked to him, this was strange. Did her computer stop working? Was the building on fire? “Can I talk to you?”

  
“I- Yes, take a seat,” he said, and she did.

  
She was younger than him, much younger. He could see it, the youth, in her eyes, in her stature, in the way she sucked all of the air out of the room. Yes, she was very good looking, no one could deny that. Aaron tried to keep his thoughts respectful.

  
“The reason I came to you for this, is I think you are a kind, decent person,” she started abruptly, “And I know you aren't going to judge me for what I'm asking.” Oh lady, Burr thought, you've come to the wrong person.

  
“Wait a minute, I-”

  
“Just listen, Mr. Burr.” The harshness of her voice made him falter, and he nodded.

  
“You may not know this, but I was married for five years. Um, still am, I guess,” she coughed into her sleeve, staring down at her shoes. Burr could see where this was going. “We were never in love, really. I thought we were because I had nothing to compare it to, but no. I don't love him, he definitely doesn't love me. So,” she let out a sigh that shook her body, “We’re getting a divorce.” She began to cry.

  
“I'm sorry,” Aaron mumbled, awkwardly. This was not a conversation to be having over salad.

  
“No, I'm sorry,” she replied, gently wiping tears away as to not smudge her makeup. “I don't mean to get emotional. After everything, I thought the divorce would only be a matter of paperwork, though I should have known better. James makes everything difficult. He's hired Mr. Jefferson as his divorce lawyer. Now, I took the liberty of going through your schedule for the next few weeks, and since most of your work is with Hamilton I figured you'd have some time to slip away and-”

  
“You want me as your lawyer,” Burr finishes for her. She nodded. “I'm sorry, Maria, but wouldn't that be considered a conflict of interest?”

  
She let out a surprised laugh. What was funny?

  
“With all due respect Mr. Burr, I think is the first conversation we've ever had.”

  
Oh. Was he really that quiet around the office? In his mind, he and Maria were good acquaintances. Hell, he’d even stretch to call her a friend. But perhaps they had never spoken. Was he amplifying all of his relationships in his head? Was he making everything out to be a bigger deal then it was? Did Alex mean more to Burr then Burr meant to Alex? How much did Alex even care about him?

  
Oh god, he was spiralling. He had to stop thinking about Hamilton and focus on- Oh shit, she'd been talking that whole time.

  
“-And that's why I think you should accept my case. I think I make a compelling point.” She crossed her arms, triumphant. It would be hard to deny her now that he'd completely ignored everything she said. She was looking at him, expectantly, hopefully.

  
“I- Yes.”

  
“Yes what? Yes you'll take my case?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Yes!” She exploded from her chair, grinning madly. “Thank you, Burr! Thank you so much!” Before he could react she was giving his hand a vigorous shake, and all but running out of his office.

  
How typical. He could never seem to keep up to anyone, conversationally or otherwise. It took him a few minutes to recuperate from that interaction, and after that he finished his salad in general nonevent.

  
The firm got louder as people came trickling back from wherever they were. He could hear Jefferson and Madison on their arrival. Jefferson was in the middle of some story; as grandiose and grating as ever. Burr could only tell it was Madison from the sniffling.

  
“Good afternoon, Burr,” Jefferson called as he walked past. “Anyway, you would love Monticello, James, I know you would. The rooms, the library, the skylights…”

  
Burr let them walk by, and pretended he didn't hear the call. He and Jefferson hadn't spoken since the horrendous dinner, and Burr felt inclined to keep it that way. Part of him felt very guilty; he still hadn't told Alex, or anyone, about the incident with the phone. It had been in the back of his mind like an itch since that night. What was Jefferson doing with the phone? What information did Alex have that he would even want?

  
It bothered him that Jefferson was going around, presumably with some terrible secret about Alex. And also, it bothered him that it bothered him. God, when did life get so confusing? When Alex joined the firm? When he first saw Alex on the train? It was something to do with Alex, that was for secret. The man made everything confusing.

  
Speak of the devil, and there he was, again in his doorway with a smirk on his face. His hair was untamed, his eyes were heavy and dark. The devil, indeed.

  
“Good lunch, Aaron?” He asked.

  
“Salad.”

  
“Hmm. Greek Dijon Vinaigrette?” And Aaron had to smile. The dressing, he made it from scratch, he couldn't eat salad without it. He’d mentioned it in passing, probably on the train, it was touching that Alex would remember such a detail.

  
“Yeah. How was your lunch date?”

  
Hamilton took that as an invitation to sit down, relax, and start rambling.

  
“We went to that Asian place downtown, you know, the one with the really bad lucky cat painting on the side, and it was good, the ambiance was nice, and Eliza swears by the chop suey. I've had better but I didn't want to tell her that. She's been wanting to take me to this joint, like, for weeks and I've been putting it off because Chinese food goes through me like a hot knife through butter, but I didn't want to tell her that either so I went, and I don't think that toilet will ever be the same again. I probably spent half of our date in the bathroom, Burr, it was just a nightmare. But Eliza was forgiving, as always. She asked about you, by the way.” He was leaving a space for Burr to speak, so he did.

  
“Did she?”

  
“She asked how you were doing.” Burr leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. Hamilton was idly picking at a hangnail.

  
“And what did you tell her?” Aaron asked. Hamilton looked up; their eyes met.

  
“I said you seem lonely,”. He replied, earnestly.

  
“Do I?”

  
“Are you?”

  
They were staring at each other. Why did Alex care how he was feeling? Why was it so hot in the office? Why did Alex’s deep brown eyes make his stomach twist and his cheeks go red?

  
“No. I'm not.”

  
“Eliza thinks it would be fun to set you up with someone.” Burr gaped.

  
“Set me- you mean on a date? With you as my matchmaker?”

  
This was embarrassing for Burr. The man he was in love with- no, he couldn't call him that, it was too painful- the man he had feelings for, was trying to ‘set him up’ with someone else.

  
“It was Eliza idea, so if you want someone to be your matchmaker it would be her. But I could be your wingman, or your best man or something equally platonic with an emphasis on manhood.”

  
Platonic. Ouch.

  
“Right. Well, I can spare you the trouble,” Aaron said, clipped. “I’m not lonely, I don't need a date.”

  
“Suit yourself. It's not as if-”

  
“Aaron are you bus- Oh.” Angelica’s head was poking out from behind the door. Her face was flushed, eyes wild, work emergency. Alex stood immediately, like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

  
“I should go,” he mumbled, in an uncharacteristic whisper. He couldn't meet Aaron's eye, and quickly left the room, brushing shoulders with Angelica as she strided forward. She waited for the door to click behind her, and Alex’s footsteps to fade before she spoke.

  
“Leave him alone, Burr, he's no good.” Aaron groaned. It felt as if he'd had this conversation a hundred times.

  
“Why does everyone always tell me to leave him alone, but no one’s ever trying to drag him away from me? Why am I expected to have self control?” Angelica rolled her eyes.

  
“I'm not here to discuss boy drama with you. Stop pouting. Sit up straight. Have you heard about what's going down next week?”

  
“No,” He said, “What’s going down next week?”

  
“You really do live in a bubble don't you?” She said, and didn't give him the chance to defend himself. “Next week is the court date for the Reynolds divorce case. Reynolds as in Maria. But wait, it's more interesting than that! Defending Mr. Reynolds is none other than our Thomas Jefferson. But wait! There's more!” Her face was alight with the joy of good gossip. She was always way too involved in the inner workings of the firm. “Hamilton has been called in late to testify. I just cannot believe what-”

  
“Hold on,” Burr needed a minute. A few minutes. “Did you just say Hamilton is a part of the Reynolds divorce? Alexander Hamilton?”

  
“Yes, Burr, what other Hamilton’s do you know? What's the matter?”

  
“Twenty minutes ago Maria Reynolds came to me and asked if I'd be her lawyer on the case.”

  
Angelica’s eyes widened, her mouth gaped open. Almost collapsing into a chair, she leaned forward, placing her elbows on Burr’s desk.

  
“Tell me everything.”

  
\----

  
A week later he sat in bed, going over the notes he'd written for the case. Tomorrow he would stand up in front of a court and defend Maria Reynold’s freedom. There were lots of things he was in the dark about, the night before the big case. He had no idea what he would be facing.

  
There was a knock on the door. He sat bolt upright, checking the time. Did he order pizza and forget about it? No, it was well past midnight. Time did fly when you were hard at work. He was almost as bad as Hamilton, who would definitely be awake right now, and… Oh no, could he be at the door?

  
Gingerly, careful not make the floor creak as he walked, Aaron crept to the door, and peeked through the peephole. Confused and shocked by the person on his welcome mat, he swung the door open.

  
John Laurens stumbled into his apartment, reeking of liquor and cigarette smoke. His left eye was purple and blue, his knuckles were red. He took two steps and collapsed face first onto the floor.

  
“Hnnng,” He moaned into the carpet.

  
“Laurens?” Aaron's hands were up in surrender. He was in his pajamas, his slippers. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”

  
“Aaron Burr,” He gurgled in response. “Just the- just the motherfucker I wanted to see.”

  
Pity overtook Aaron, and he knelt down to help the other man up. Took him by the elbow, pulled him into a sitting position.

  
“Can you stand?” He asked.

  
“Rather not.” So they sat together there, side by side. Laurens burped.

  
“Pardon,” He said. “Didn't mean to intrude, you know. Didn't want to bother you, but I don't know where to go. I have,” Another burp, “I have money, I can pay.”

  
“What are you talking about?”

  
“Alex. Fucking Alex. He kicked me out.” Aaron was stunned.

  
“He- what?”

  
“Told me to pack my shit and leave, but I don't even have any shit, I don't even have anything, but we were friends and I payed rent. Thought we were friends…” He started to cry. Face in his hands, trembling. Aaron looked away, embarrassed. He didn't want to see the face of a broken person.

  
“You can stay here for tonight,” He said, eyes glued to the floor. “I've got court tomorrow, we can figure something out after that.”

  
Aaron felt wary extending a helping hand to someone like John Laurens. Not only was he an addict with a tendency to punch anything that disagreed with him, his relationship with Alex was too ambiguous for Burr’s comfort. His thoughts were interrupted by Laurens pulling him into a hug. Like a child, he clung to Aaron, head in his chest, arms wrapped around his stomach. His face was wet.

  
“Thank you,” He choked, “Thank you. I'll sleep on the couch, you won't even know I'm here.”

  
“You have to get up off the floor if you want to sleep on the couch,” Aaron told him, quietly. His hand found his hair, gave it a stroke. It was surprisingly soft. “Come now, I'll help you up.”

  
He had to pry himself from John’s death grip to stand, then helped him up. He was sliding an arm around John’s shoulder when he received a disapproving look from the other man.

  
“What?” Aaron asked.

  
“Don't think I can walk to the couch by myself?”

  
Aaron considered him. He wasn't a very big man, though he puffed out his chest to look tough. His eyes carried wisdom; his mouth, a sneer. Hair stuck to his face, encircling it like a teary halo. He eye was black and bruising. And he was very, very drunk.

  
This all seemed too familiar. The voice of reason in his head, that was sounding more and more like Angelica, told him to be careful, tread lightly.

  
“Call me cautious, but considering you fell after one step getting in here, I'm going to give you a hand.” In response, John let out a wry chuckle.

  
Once they had reached the couch safely, Laurens flopped onto the cushions, his face smushed into a pillow.

  
“Soft,” He said. The eloquence of an alcoholic. “Leave me here to die.”

  
“No thanks, then my apartment would smell like death,” Aaron went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. He set it on the floor beside the couch. “Here's some water, if you want.”

  
“What?” Laurens muffled voice. He was already beginning to doze off, eyelids fluttering and heavy. He yawned.

  
“Water.”

  
“Oh. Thank you.”

  
“Well, anyway, I should get to be-”

  
“Aaron,” He interrupted, grabbing his wrist as he walked passed.

  
“Yes?” Aaron was well past comfortable. The back of his neck was sweaty, his chest felt tight.

  
“Thank you,” John repeated dumbly.

  
“You’re welcome,” Aaron said, meaning it. “I-”

  
“Kiss me.” And Aaron met his eyes with a start. His face was earnest, his eyes stone. Maybe he was like a lost puppy, and that's why Aaron did it. Maybe it was because he was Alex’s friend, and some part of him hoped it would make him jealous. Maybe, and most likely, he felt the electric shock of his hand clenching his wrist, and he looked at John’s very kissable lips, and the fact that his sex life had all but died kicked him into high gear.

  
In a grand swoop, Burr leaned forward and grabbed him. They were on each other in a second, lips crashed together, hot and fierce. Aaron's hands went right for the hair, running through it, pulling it. Laurens was grabbing at his shirt, fumbling with his fingers, trying to drag him closer, closer. Their teeth and noses bumped, but it didn't matter. His mouth tasted like salt. Probably from the tears. 

  
Laurens gave up kissing to suck on his neck, a surprise, and he let out a moan. Aaron was pulled fully onto the couch, his legs straddling Laurens as he kissed, sucked, licked up and down his neck. Aaron’s mouth was open, eyes closed. As lips explored his collarbone he had to sigh.

  
“Jesus Christ,” He mumbled. He couldn't let this get too far, the Angelica in his head was screaming bloody murder.

  
“Kiss me,” It was Aaron’s turn to order, and Laurens obliged, passionately throwing himself toward him. He ran through Aaron’s mouth with his tongue, sucked at his bottom lip. One long, satisfying kiss, and then Aaron pulled away, panting.

  
“I have a case tomorrow. I should sleep.” Their eyes were both crazed, their hair wild, their lips red.

  
“‘Kay,” said Laurens, and that was that.

  
Burr shut off the lights and went into his room. He got under the covers. He closed his eyes. But he did not sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaat? 
> 
> I'm sorry that I took so long to update, and I apologize in advance for the future, because I don't know when the next chapter will be written, if at all. I'm grateful for the tremendous amount of support I've received, without your compliments and comments I wouldn't have made it even this far. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Ham/Burr fic!! Because I am slowly becoming Hamilton trash, and needed an outlet. More to come!! 
> 
> P.S. Don't tell me Hamilton wouldn't listen to shitty pop music. He is an absolute freak for Uptown Funk.


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